tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-92118789549121754362018-11-19T20:35:57.176+00:00GandermoniumIn 2008 a crap Non-League Blog was closed down by a military court for a crime they didn't commit. In 2012, these men promptly escaped from a maximum security pub to the West Sutton underground. Today, still wanted by Sutton Council, they survive as sad football watching losers. If you have a pin badge problem, if no one else can help, and if you can find them sober, maybe you can hire Gandermonium.
Deeeeeeer der der der, der der der!Gander Moniumnoreply@blogger.comBlogger476125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9211878954912175436.post-82919391804509358282018-11-12T22:24:00.002+00:002018-11-13T09:00:20.910+00:00Tuff Stuff SluffSo the magic of the cup has once again graced us with her presence back down the Lane. And it's always nice once in a while to get away from the weekly grime &amp; grind of standard league football. But with our recent spate of somewhat iffy-like performances of late, this might not have been the best time to play a team from the division below you. Not that Sutton fans are the ultimate when it comes to fatalists, oh no no no, we're always positive...<br /><br /><a name='more'></a>The team that stands in our way with a date in the second round (and a midweek trip to Blackpool for our troubles) is none other than former 1973 FA Amateur Cup finalists &amp; home of the KP Nut, the Rebels of&nbsp;<strike>Sluff</strike> Slough Town. And it's been a while since they were last here. So much so that I haven't a scooby when it was. I'll ask Dr Bell on that, he's old enough to remember. Plying their trade these days in the Conference South, they appear to be doing rather well this season and are only a couple of points outside the play-offs.<br /><br />Once again, there were no British Rail services going through the Badlands of Carshalton so it's a bus ride to Sutton for the Duke. The 151 is a simple enough route, except every time it seems that I'm on the bleedin' bugger, there is a driver change outside <strike>Burger King</strike>&nbsp;<strike>Blockbusters</strike>&nbsp;<strike>The Cricketers</strike>&nbsp;<strike>The Firkin</strike>&nbsp;some non-descript block of flats at the bottom of Sutton. So I decide that it's quicker to jump off and make the rest of the journey on foot.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YHAz2CtI4eM/W-nhNETCTOI/AAAAAAAAF54/SRt9MLJj224HBWBFxGFYcvR-WStWNtVUQCLcBGAs/s1600/WP_20181110_001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YHAz2CtI4eM/W-nhNETCTOI/AAAAAAAAF54/SRt9MLJj224HBWBFxGFYcvR-WStWNtVUQCLcBGAs/s400/WP_20181110_001.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sign of the times...</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Fuck me! The trip up Sutton High Street can be a tad depressing. Not only does it seem that every time I walk up here another shop has shut it's doors for the final time, but I also get approached by every man and his dog trying to sell me some nonsense. If it's not an old gypsy lady calling me "sexy" and trying to palm me off with some sort of decaying foliage in return for some coinage, it's a fella tying to press upon me the virtues of a fake religion. And the whole V for Vendetta display of four blokes masked up in across with iPads? Very very strange...<br /><br />Into the 'Spoons and it's a much need pint of £2.59 cider. BT Pete isn't far behind and manages to squeeze in on my purchase. £1.99 for a pint of whatever it was. Ok, fair enough, I'll get you one then. Here we discuss the fortunes of the local sides. We even come across the previous nights performance of AFC Wimbledon, who by all accounts were not at their best, but squeezed through against pluck y Haringey none the less. Lucky bastards!<br /><br />A few pints down and it's finally time to head towards the ground. The dark clouds in the sky seem to be all converging above GGL, but are yet to unleash the coming reckoning. It's all pay today and it's a little surprising to see so few people making their way towards the turnstiles. But that's the way it is sometimes.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qRy6lBI7u7E/W-nhNG7ybNI/AAAAAAAAF5w/bwIGXuHXSsoiyT_7gbPLZlSc7DeEbkIuwCLcBGAs/s1600/WP_20181110_003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qRy6lBI7u7E/W-nhNG7ybNI/AAAAAAAAF5w/bwIGXuHXSsoiyT_7gbPLZlSc7DeEbkIuwCLcBGAs/s400/WP_20181110_003.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crowds...</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><b><i>Butler, Bennett, Thomas, Clough, Collins, Bolarinwa, Davis, Ayunga, Cadogan, Eastmond, Drinan. Bench Warmers: Worner, Beckwith, Bailey, Brown, Beautyman, Wishart, Taylor.</i></b><br /><br />It's not long after kick off before the heavens open up and the Shoebox is drenched. Luckily some of the more 'intelligent' members came with umbrellas. But not me, as you'd probabyl already guessed. A scrappy game from the off, both teams failed to produce any sort of magic. Sutton were playing in the unusual formation of the classic 4-4-2.&nbsp; Butler was the busier of the two keepers and no thanks to some of his decision making. A couple of times he came for crosses and opted to punch instead of catching the ball, which looked easier.<br /><br />Drinan had a great chance to put us one up but his free header not only failed to hit the target, it didn't even go off the field of play! Slough's best chance really should've had them take the lead. Butler does well to save the initial shot but it lands to a Slough player in the box. But he, luckily for us, fucks his shot up and it hits the ground and bounces over the bar. Lucky escape boys!<br /><br />Just before the half is over, Bennett tries to get his head to a high punt from Butler. Leaping like a salmon, he gets as high as he can, but yet fails to reach the ball. Unluckily for him, the opposition didn't follow him up in challenging for the ball and remained on the ground. Next thing you know, he's colliding with the hard surface having gone over the geezer's shoulders and there is a sign of worry from the bench. With the help of both physios and the club doctor he's eventually brought to his feet looking a bit groggy, but he can't continue and has to be replaced with Bailey.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MCLuCT7Yg9g/W-nhPejyLII/AAAAAAAAF6E/AJ9a5lEXSAYndqD3-2HjhYv7CGug4ohkwCLcBGAs/s1600/WP_20181110_005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MCLuCT7Yg9g/W-nhPejyLII/AAAAAAAAF6E/AJ9a5lEXSAYndqD3-2HjhYv7CGug4ohkwCLcBGAs/s400/WP_20181110_005.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">More crowds...</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Second half and it's more of the same once again. The rain is still coming down and both teams fail to really find their rhythm. Because of this the game begins to open up. Despite some blatant dubious actions from certain Slough players, they managed to match Sutton over the park. And by getting wetter than a Prom date, it was not fun for the paying public.<br /><br />After an hour, and we have a double substitution. Strangely enough, both forwards Ayunga &amp; Drinan are replaced with Beckwith &amp; Brown. So that's two forwards replaced with a defender and a midfielder. Clough is then put forward in an attempt to give us some height in attack. And to be fair to the fella it's Clough who has the best attempts to win the game for Sutton. Collins was also called on to clear the ball off the line as Slough increased the pressure.<br /><br />A final little flurry from us near the end see's us finish stronger, one chance was a header from just outside the six yard box that was easier to hit the target then miss. Of course it missed. The other opportunity was after some well worked play from the otherwise very quiet Bolarinwa, but again it came to nothing. Slough also had a big late penalty shout but from our view over on the Shoebox, you couldn't really see it it. A special mention must also go to the idiot oxygen thief that ran the line in front of us. Another example of poor officiating once again.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bfa8mQ3xdhw/W-nhW29rb-I/AAAAAAAAF6s/yBOIJA4vOz8fOXfBDmG5RwoPIAqJHrHZQCLcBGAs/s1600/WP_20181110_015.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bfa8mQ3xdhw/W-nhW29rb-I/AAAAAAAAF6s/yBOIJA4vOz8fOXfBDmG5RwoPIAqJHrHZQCLcBGAs/s400/WP_20181110_015.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pissin' rain...</td></tr></tbody></table><br />After the usual club duties on the pitch, it's into the bar for the debrief. And the final conclusion? Shit! Disappointing! We've put in some ropey performances over the years, but it appears this season has produced a few of its own. And yet, we're still doing better than where we were last year and we're still in the cup. That's of course the most important thing but something is just not quite clicking at the moment.<br /><br />Plenty of other post-match shithousery is on show. From the usual suspects putting on some dreadful songs on the juke box, we also had a debate about a gay bar in Littlehampton and Angela bleddin' Lansbury who not only is still alive kickin' &amp; screamin' (as well as Dame Vera Lynn &amp; Olivia De Haviland may I add), but is apparently a cousin of none other than Noggin the Nog and Bagpuss main man, Oliver Postgate. See, you learn something every day with Gandermonium. Educational and informative us.<br /><br />We were also trying to work out how it is that Butler, who picked up his second yellow in the competition, is now suspended for the replay. But Bailey, who was sent off, served his suspension with a league match. Great work boys of the FA. They've even made disciplinary stuff fuckin' confusing. Several beers later and it's time to call it a night and head off to our respective 'other activities'.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8o6XxZb5Pvk/W-nhXkP4ehI/AAAAAAAAF6w/vNBSD9xzrmog33Tp6vmcNS0w4pVz13qEwCLcBGAs/s1600/WP_20181110_017.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="901" height="400" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8o6XxZb5Pvk/W-nhXkP4ehI/AAAAAAAAF6w/vNBSD9xzrmog33Tp6vmcNS0w4pVz13qEwCLcBGAs/s400/WP_20181110_017.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Enough said...</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Now it's time move onto another trip "Oop North". Newcastle is our destination and Gateshead is the team. And unfortunately. it's me in the driving seat once again as only a skeleton crew is making the journey. So you're all lumbered. Enjoy!<br /><br />Duke<br />Att. 1830<br /><br />Dukehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15782806444120070028noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9211878954912175436.post-55720620326850419882018-11-07T13:29:00.004+00:002018-11-07T13:44:40.552+00:00Just Can't Get EnoughApologies for this blog being a late one as due to personal issues I was a bit behind in getting this one written and to the editor for publishing. But, before moving onto the game, let us recap back to the midweek action against Chesterfield.&nbsp; It was a long drawn out game where everyone and his wife could see we were going to concede a last minute equaliser and it of course happened. Cue nonsense from the Chesterfield boss – Mad Dog Martin Allen and his comments about our club, well it was him and his team’s coach which kept traffic to a standstill on GGL when leaving the club and held up my Uber driver too.<br /><br /><a name='more'></a>This entry sees my first hat trick in terms of Gandermonium entries as this is my third so far against today’s opposition Dagenham and Redbridge.&nbsp; I would rather them than their near neighbours Leyton Orient who may I state are still bitter as anything after our win against them. That was like over a month ago now chaps, you should probably move on. Speaking of which, let’s move on to today's events and I decide to take the public transport route this afternoon and this includes getting the 413 bus. On said bus some woman overhears me talking to a married couple who had once owned the fish and chip shop on GGL and says to me “I will just follow you when I get off then”. In fact she made it into the bar before I did! But that’s because I had a number of chats en route, once more engaging again in some 'stakeholder engagement'. <span style="color: #6aa84f;"><i>(Do what? - Ed)</i></span><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fOg0TdRu3cM/W-LoTsMNdtI/AAAAAAAAGH4/9Nes1-LyiYgXQlB-8WZtGdEicLawL288gCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/IMG_1063.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fOg0TdRu3cM/W-LoTsMNdtI/AAAAAAAAGH4/9Nes1-LyiYgXQlB-8WZtGdEicLawL288gCK4BGAYYCw/s400/IMG_1063.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Silence</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />And it is one of my engagements which upsets someone as I declare that Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody” is one of the most overrated songs of all time.&nbsp; Ok it’s good but it is not as good as everyone makes it out to be, unlike Guns n Roses’ “November Rain” which I would say is a much better tune. As today was unsegregated I decided it might be best to take a position behind the goal and to avoid being spoken to about where I stand – plus it actually is a lovely day and it’s one of those days where in the first half you need to shade your eyes from the sun.&nbsp; As some of the Dagenham fans pass me one says to their friend “you see him [him being me], he’s one of the firm here” – did not realise we would be classed as a firm. Idiots yes, but not a firm!<br /><br />The team line up for today is as follows:-<br /><b><i>26. Butler (GK), 2. Bennett, 3. Thomas, 5. Clough, 6. JC [skip], 16. Bailey, 15. Eastie, 11. Cadogan, 7. Tombo, 24. Drinan, 10. Ayunga</i></b><br /><br />The teams lined up for a minute’s silence before kick off in respect for Dagenham and Redbridge’s President who had sadly passed away during the week and was well observed by all present. As the first half is taking place further evidence of Sutton United’s growing global dominance is displayed further, as standing behind me are a group of Dutch fans (whom sound Welsh to me). I do not know what they thought of the game as all the ball seems to do is be in the air constantly and it is not until the 32nd minute where the first shot on goal occurs and it was not even on target. That sort of game I'm afraid! It was at this point that Half Time Steve (HTS) walks by and yes it is that time to head to the bar, wondering if goal missed number five will happen.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rDT3LUc3JsI/W-LoV-nyJ0I/AAAAAAAAGIA/HJGWxm8g_SsKPaoIc76p9KnExNdYgkhOgCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/IMG_1061.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rDT3LUc3JsI/W-LoV-nyJ0I/AAAAAAAAGIA/HJGWxm8g_SsKPaoIc76p9KnExNdYgkhOgCK4BGAYYCw/s400/IMG_1061.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Milling about</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />Going into the bar I check on the scores and see that Marco Arnautovic has scored for West Ham United. Yes! I only put in into my Fantasy Premier League team late last night. Yes dear fellow readers this is a highlight from today’s game....thus far! In addition, it seems we're not the only ones being 'entertained' as there seems to be a huge number of 0-0's all over the divisions, including even Real Madrid. The match was so interesting that I even took a picture of an airplane flying above us – wonder where that is heading to? America? Barbados? Stansted?<br /><br />From what can only be described as a good talking to by our Dos to the players the second half starts off brighter. A free kick inside the first couple of minutes see a Charlie Clough header tipped over the bar by poor Tesco's sandwich Justham (remember, I do not swear so I cannot repeat the more common usage of that particular joke). Then on 56 minutes the deadlock was finally broken when a 25 yard shot from Nicky Bailey was parried by the Tesco sandwich towards the direction of Cadogan who reacted quickest and slotted into the bottom left for 1-0. As for Sutton this was it, as it soon seemed to be another repeat of the Chesterfield game, with us sitting back and allowing Dagenham to come at us. However, I realised during this spell when looking at the Dagenham number 23 that even I must be taller than him!!<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-434NhV3vFNc/W-LoX7u90KI/AAAAAAAAGII/6bymDGuVRuQ5-a6hZBrxjb8hkbxtOVhOQCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/IMG_1064.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-434NhV3vFNc/W-LoX7u90KI/AAAAAAAAGII/6bymDGuVRuQ5-a6hZBrxjb8hkbxtOVhOQCK4BGAYYCw/s400/IMG_1064.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Action....sort of.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />Charlie Clough went off with 20 minutes to go with Dean Beckwith coming on due to a head injury. If you have seen the photo circulating on social media then you will see how nasty of an injury that was and brought up the usual “But Halloween was last week” quotes. Dagenham did start creating chances and Jamie Butler was on hand to save us from throwing away another two points. He even has his own fan club now, set up by Ozzie, there's even badges available! Although I hope they've cleared that with Taz first, not sure he'd be too happy about others muscling in on his 'tat' empire!<br /><br />For what seemed an eternity the game finally petered out and three valuable points where picked up ahead of next week’s FA Cup tie against Slough. An attendance of 1909 were on hand, substitutions included Wayne Brown on for Tombo on 74 minutes and Wish on for Ayunga in injury time which sparked a bit of handbags at dawn from the Dagenham players. Surprisingly there was no bookings for Sutton players.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-s5vr7sk5n4g/W-LoZp8-ZeI/AAAAAAAAGIQ/G42wbc97z-ctVtjJrvs3rG5wpimycfSDgCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/IMG_1067.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-s5vr7sk5n4g/W-LoZp8-ZeI/AAAAAAAAGIQ/G42wbc97z-ctVtjJrvs3rG5wpimycfSDgCK4BGAYYCw/s400/IMG_1067.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Plane</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />Back to the bar and post-match it is, in the (very loud) words of AB, time for not one, not two, but THREE Strikers are Key draws.....come onnnnnnnnnnnnn!!! And to keep with the global continental flavour of the club the first draw is done by one of those Dutch (Welsh?) chaps, a Greek national and finall an Irish national. The second draw seeing the safe opened and the contents won, which normally would be cause for celebration. But on this occasion, the person opening the safe is one Mr P. Doswell. Still, he says he's going to be giving his winnings to charity, so that's ok. However some of the rabble I think would rather it went to another more liquid orientated cause.<br /><br />Taz then demonstrates on a visual scale with his hand how low my musical tastes apparently are, which ends with him sitting on the floor and stating "You're lucky we don't have a basement". Like I say fella I bring the different element to proceedings, and if we all liked the same things the world would be boring. I was also outed on Twitter for saying the 'Saturdays’ version of “Just Can’t Get Enough” is better than Depeche Mode’s. <i><span style="color: #38761d;">(It bloody well isn't! - The rest of the World)</span></i>. Hey it has a bit more excitement to it, if you know what I mean haha!<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-H3a5IaD-cho/W-LocFglHTI/AAAAAAAAGIY/5Q8cynAwPEwYi4VeK6BKsMzOiLVHmMo6QCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/IMG_1069.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-H3a5IaD-cho/W-LocFglHTI/AAAAAAAAGIY/5Q8cynAwPEwYi4VeK6BKsMzOiLVHmMo6QCK4BGAYYCw/s400/IMG_1069.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"That's your music taste that is..."</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />To sign off, we now look forward to the first round proper of the FA Cup against David Brent’s Slough Town and as November approaches we see the influx of Christmas adverts on telly. Why oh why so early? My complaints about such matters end with the following picture being sent via the WhatsApp group chat which I am sure is what may be the first picture we've ever published of Mr X.<br /><br />Hopefully the next blog you read will be about us reaching the second round of the FA Cup.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-P2tVinpDl_4/W-LofGbyfyI/AAAAAAAAGIg/v9I9_uidTBU4xmqVntKXvbIqiCs4eByeACK4BGAYYCw/s1600/797901e0-954d-44d6-a263-783ee0e8234f.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-P2tVinpDl_4/W-LofGbyfyI/AAAAAAAAGIg/v9I9_uidTBU4xmqVntKXvbIqiCs4eByeACK4BGAYYCw/s400/797901e0-954d-44d6-a263-783ee0e8234f.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mr X?</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />Wise men say…<br /><br />Robbo<br /><br />Gander Moniumhttps://plus.google.com/100970888492967679847noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9211878954912175436.post-85984338916276042872018-10-31T13:42:00.001+00:002018-10-31T13:42:09.190+00:00Loosened ThrupenniesAah, Chesterfield, the latest in the parade of Football League stalwarts who sink to a shocker of a season in the fourth tier and suddenly find themselves plunged bollock-naked into the choppy and icy waters of the wacky world we like to call the “National League”.<br /><br /><a name='more'></a>I’m not a smug man as you know but even I couldn’t help having a knowing little chortle to myself when we saw the usual close season comments about how this club was too big for non-league, how it would be one season on the fifth-tier trampoline before bouncing back, refreshed and renewed, to their rightful place amongst the big boys in the Carabou Cup. You won’t be the first to tread that well-worn path of entitlement my old darlings and you sure as fuck won’t be the last. Embrace our world of part-timers and Fred G’ers and the new horizons it opens up for you with the same good grace as some others have in the past, like, I don’t know, Tranmere?, and enjoy your stay before you either scrape your way out on the bones of yer arse through the play offs or really fuck it up and crash through the trap door into the regional divisions. Whichever way, keep a smile on your face and a pint in your hand and you’ll be grand.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aN7PlkYewNI/W9mwqjNnT5I/AAAAAAAAGGA/24D_hF_CjKMdTsTy3iH0exmyrHKdsb5GgCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/IMG_20181030_174144.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aN7PlkYewNI/W9mwqjNnT5I/AAAAAAAAGGA/24D_hF_CjKMdTsTy3iH0exmyrHKdsb5GgCK4BGAYYCw/s400/IMG_20181030_174144.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Guess where this was taken?!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />Anyway, 'Dave' The Editor had been on at me to volunteer to toss off one of these match-day epistles for a while now as I’d been basking in the reflected glory of the<b> <a href="http://www.gandermonium.com/2018/10/mitcham-stadium-mysteries.html" target="_blank">Mitcham Stadium Mystery blog</a></b> for far too long with its SIX THOUSAND FUCKING HITS and popular acclaim all the way from BBC London to the Leyton Orient fanzine, and, bizarrely, the Wealdstone programme. You want filler? Just bring us the trowel and we will slap it all over, no problem chief.<br /><br />But what do I know of Chesterfield?&nbsp; Not enough it seems;&nbsp; the bent spire, former MP Tony Benn and a fairly ropey start to life amongst the movers and shakers in the league from hell under the stewardship of journeyman gaffer “Mad Dog” Martin Allen. When in need of information and intelligence I do what I normally do, issue an appeal to you, the readers, and you never let me down. It all comes tumbling out like a pair of loosened thrupennies. Philthy Animal from Motorhead and nineties lad mag lingerie model Jo Guest were both born there, it has a huge outdoor market along with loads of history dating back to the Romans and, of course, that bent spire which has given the football team, the Spireites, it’s nickname! Makes our local claim to fame, Harry Secombe, look a bit shabby to be honest, unless you are massive fan of old episodes of Songs of Praise, in which case knock yerself out. Mind you I was pissed off to find out that the Chesterfield fag brand is some sort of American confection, once promoted by Ronnie “Raygun” Reagan himself before he downgraded from acting to politician, and has absolutely nothing to do with the town itself. That disappointment was mitigated when I also discovered that lorry loads of snide Chesterfields are smuggled in from Eastern Europe on a daily basis and are exactly the kind of dirt cheap horse-shit and sawdust snouts beloved of the Duke of Sutton and his entourage.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rcgw21Meh3k/W9mwtKkds7I/AAAAAAAAGGI/MUFJSAhlPzsprwnooM8NXDsVdMWHx_oHgCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/IMG_20181030_191437.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rcgw21Meh3k/W9mwtKkds7I/AAAAAAAAGGI/MUFJSAhlPzsprwnooM8NXDsVdMWHx_oHgCK4BGAYYCw/s400/IMG_20181030_191437.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Spoooooky!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />The real technical problem with doing up a Tuesday night homer is that there is no real warm up, no fucked up train connections, no seven am carrier bag of cans and no new scenery to get all expansive and artistic about. It’s a bastard of a thing and just means that you have to get deep down and creative and, if in doubt, just make a load of stuff up. So here we go.<br /><br />Wheeling in to West Sutton on the rattler I jump in the van and head up to the gym for a quick pre-match work out and after buffing up the pecs, a sixty second spray tan and a wax of the back, sack and crack I nip back home for a discussion with Mrs Totts about the macro-economic impact on West Sutton of Hammond’s budget while wolfing down the sumptuous five course gourmet meal she’s lovingly spent all day preparing for me.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aWsjxiQzPkQ/W9mwvAiloFI/AAAAAAAAGGQ/-wUDrn8-CfY0Eyez3DeTQOCxzAvUhxSoACK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20181030_203703.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aWsjxiQzPkQ/W9mwvAiloFI/AAAAAAAAGGQ/-wUDrn8-CfY0Eyez3DeTQOCxzAvUhxSoACK4BGAYYCw/s400/20181030_203703.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A veritable torrent of humanity</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />Bowling out of the door and onto the Lane of Lust I remember that the Spireites manager has a penchant for a local pre-match dip so I take a quick detour through Kimpton Park to check whether “Mad Dog”, laughing in the face of almost certain Weils Disease, is ragged off and having a bob up in amongst the Tesco trolleys and god knows what else in Pyle Brook. Nope, apparently not. There’s a decent buzz around the gaff when I finally arrive, we all love a night game as it starts to get decidedly nippy, and I dive into the lounge for a livener. I’m chuffed to find our own Modfather, former turnstile operator and Desert Boot oficianado Marky N is making a too rare visit to GLL but I soon get bored with him banging on about some fey, floppy fringed, jangly, indie band called 'the Chesterfields' he used to follow back when he actually had hair and used to spend his days staring at his shoes. I’m desperate for copy mate, but not that fucking desperate.<br /><br />Southampton Steve collars me and asks if I’d like to enter the quiz on Friday evening.&nbsp; No idea who “The Quiz” is and frankly I’m not interested in that sort of malarkey and anyway SCR are at home in the FA Vase and I will be down for a few scoops and to give Darren’s lads a bit of support. You might want to give it a bash yourself as it goes. Ordering a pint I peer through the hatch and see that the COC’s are in the VP’s avoiding the hoi polloi and availing themselves of the real glasses, formica tables and cheesy nibbles that their elevated status affords them. They can’t even be arsed to come round and sway hello. I make a mental note to put that on the agenda for Saturday. I don’t mind a bit of attitude but I won’t tolerate blatant rudeness.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-fJ3cQpoaj4o/W9mwwA1jUsI/AAAAAAAAGGY/Xwm4JqHW6yAb1Fj11AOxfdggBhb_IYABQCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20181030_203727.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-fJ3cQpoaj4o/W9mwwA1jUsI/AAAAAAAAGGY/Xwm4JqHW6yAb1Fj11AOxfdggBhb_IYABQCK4BGAYYCw/s400/20181030_203727.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Back under lights!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />The witching hour approaches and it’s good to see a healthy queue at the turnstiles. Been a month since a home league game and it’s good to be back at HQ for the next couple of weeks. Torchy is selling his badges and One Eyed Jason is keeping him under observation with his one good mincer and all seems well with the world in the workers’ paradise we have carved out against all the odds down here in West Sutton. I’m puffed up with pride as I arrive on a well-packed Shoebox as the strains of our own anthem cut through the cold night air. Even Bob Budd is having a bit of a pogo about, good lad. After a shocking recent attendance record nearly all the DILF’s are present, we must be on a good run, and with a full pack of Bacon’s, and Ipswich Lee recently being promoted to the top step of the Shoebox , we are looking good on the most famous terrace in world football. Now then, I’ve won the complicated playing card racket on the first scorer known as “DILF Bingo” twice on the bounce and I’m looking forward to ramming home the hat trick tonight. Shocker, Ces hasn’t bought the fucking playing cards! This is blatant match fixing on an epic scale and serves to confirm Frakey’s theory that the whole enterprise is bent from top to bottom and run by low rent fraudsters. Disgusting. I’m a shareholder at this club and I intend to raise this with the board.<br /><br /><b><i><span style="background-color: white; color: #14171a; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Butler, Bennett, Thomas, Clough, Collins, Bolarinwa, Davis, Ayunga, Cadogan, Eastmond, Drinan SUBS: </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #14171a; font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-wrap;">Beckwith, Bailey, Brown, Beautyman, Wishart</span></i></b><br /><br />The lads are out and there’s a respectful minutes silence for the terrible tragedy at Leicester City at the weekend and then we are off and running. But who’s that diminuitive, puffed up figure in black with the whistle at his lips? Ahh, fuck it, it’s Rock. In the Carnival of Clowns that is National League officialdom Rocky has a very special place right at the pinnacle. Will he disappoint tonight? Of course he won’t. We get going on the front foot and are pinging around some decent passing and the movement looks good and sharp to me whereas Chesterfield are all about Route One and whacking it up to a familiar, lanky figure up top. We know Denton of old. He’s a big man and looks like he might be quite handy on the pavement but unfortunately he carries himself with all the petulant grace of a teenage boy whose mum has just confiscated his Lonsdale wank sock.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-05hbzWA0gjY/W9mwxbWSt_I/AAAAAAAAGGg/vwsMjuCEAhQZuaAdZ8x2ojuXbrIR0RxRQCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20181030_203911.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-05hbzWA0gjY/W9mwxbWSt_I/AAAAAAAAGGg/vwsMjuCEAhQZuaAdZ8x2ojuXbrIR0RxRQCK4BGAYYCw/s400/20181030_203911.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The essence of Non-League</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />Sutton’s goal is a corker.&nbsp; We’ve seen some fine young talented players at GGL in recent years but I’m starting to think that Jonah Ayunga may prove to be the best of the lot. You could argue that the keeper may have done better with his shot but he’s deserved that goal and with his pace, strength and movement he’s right in the groove now and is a nightmare for defenders. I hope he’s with us for a good old while and you just know he’s only going to get better. Rock is flapping around with his cards and his nonsense and one perfectly legit Kenny Davis challenge sparks a chorus from the decent away support of “you dirty southern bastards”. I glance across to Barry who is positively beaming that his whole life’s work is now being recognised as far away as Derbyshire. It’s a fitting tribute to the fella after all he’s done over the years to break down the barriers of discrimination erected in front of the dogging community.<br /><br />Half time. Greek has given me some lah dee’s that “came out of a house clearance.” It’s soon pretty clear what killed the inhabitants but I’m not an ungrateful sort of bloke and I puff on regardless as a large space clears around me. Second 45 and Denton is off.&nbsp; Fish The Cabbie later tells me that before the break Martin Allen had mouthed to one of his assistants “we’re fucking shit”. He’s obviously laid that same message onto his players, along with the threat of midnight skinny-dipping in the Wandle, and with a bit more pace injected they come out with a lot more purpose. However, it’s Sutton who go closest to scoring with Doug curling in an absolute belter which comes back off the bar and Jonah can’t quite make it to the rebound.&nbsp; There’s all sorts of bollocks going on with the ref now with Harry Maguire’s lesser talented brother working overtime to get our lads booked by the easily-led Rock who’s sitting in judgement like the guvnor of a kangaroo court in a disused warehouse. It’s the roughest of one-sided rough justice and he fucking loves it.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VqjixVmrbPo/W9mwy4Eu0CI/AAAAAAAAGGo/Y9sDn_hTPUsUyBbpJedeacSh-D53dQ7ewCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20181030_212521.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VqjixVmrbPo/W9mwy4Eu0CI/AAAAAAAAGGo/Y9sDn_hTPUsUyBbpJedeacSh-D53dQ7ewCK4BGAYYCw/s400/20181030_212521.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Watching on</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />The Chesterfield one trick pony who just happens to be very fucking good at throwing a football a very fucking long way is also coming more into the game and is hurling various low-trajectory missiles deep into our box from various angles and ludicrous distances but we are defending well and look well on course to seeing the game out and securing the three points we rightly deserve on the balance of play...<br /><br />Except that would be too simple and just as I’m starting to look forward to a nice mug of hot chocolate with a slug of brandy in it we start making some subs that change the shape of the game. As we prepare to bring on Becks, and go to five at the back for no apparent reason, one young fella on the Shoebox , wise beyond his years, turns round and says “we all know what happens now don’t we?” We certainly do mate, we are inviting pressure on and with no out ball it keeps coming back. The Chesterfield goal doesn’t come from one of the barrage of long balls or throws it comes from us sitting deep, allowing their lad all the space and time in the world to line up a shot from outside the box that beats Jamie on his near post.&nbsp; Chesterfield celebrate like they’ve won the league which is a measure of how far we have come as a club in itself but it doesn’t stop us being hacked off that we sent them a gilt edged invitation to level it up.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-rSlpjuNw_CI/W9mw1EoYazI/AAAAAAAAGGw/Ubcpu1Ay7iQsPO_54KOCtdbu4p0lBTBZgCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20181030_224044.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-rSlpjuNw_CI/W9mw1EoYazI/AAAAAAAAGGw/Ubcpu1Ay7iQsPO_54KOCtdbu4p0lBTBZgCK4BGAYYCw/s400/20181030_224044.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Done and dusted</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />The last few minutes are frantic with us resorting to sticking one of our three centre backs, Cloughie, up front to try and chase a winner after removing the best striker on the pitch. It comes to nowt and we have to settle for a point. Disappointing to say the least.&nbsp; Yes we are still in a great position and the club is moving forwards in fine shape but a couple of points dropped is a couple of points dropped. But of course we put all that aside now and move on to the next big game on Saturday and the welcome return of the North Korean Daggers and their mad collection of flags. Bring it on.<br /><br />See you on the Shoebox<br /><br />Totts<br /><br />Gander Moniumhttps://plus.google.com/100970888492967679847noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9211878954912175436.post-9002080383242525832018-10-29T22:14:00.001+00:002018-10-29T22:15:02.512+00:00Winds of ChangeOctober. It's been long old month and no mistake. We kicked off with the schlep up to Barrow, then all got pissed about by Ryan Air in getting our arses over the Irish Sea to Dublin for the Irn Bru clash with Bohemians. Then we actually got to use some travelcards for last week's stumble out to Ruislip for the cup game with Wealdstone and today we're on the road once more to Hartlepool. Needless to day, October 2018 has broken a lot of us financially, physically and also in a couple of cases, mentally. Although we're not entirely sure that this probably wasn't already the case with those people.<br /><br /><a name='more'></a>Still, as a wise man once said: "It's a competition lads, not a fucking tea dance" so we'll just have to suck it up and plough on regardless.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OyIXgZelOP0/W9eEJRi7LwI/AAAAAAAAE1c/-zpWDCYtzVcPv5MfxOuOjtdGkDp4MLKwQCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20181027_071410.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OyIXgZelOP0/W9eEJRi7LwI/AAAAAAAAE1c/-zpWDCYtzVcPv5MfxOuOjtdGkDp4MLKwQCK4BGAYYCw/s400/20181027_071410.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No. Fucking. Trains.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />It's six am and my alarm is beeping away. A swift slap puts an end to its noisy output and I haul my carcass out of bed and into the shower. I really am getting too old for this nonsense. If I hadn't booked this one weeks in advance amongst all the wild eyed excitement of the Irn Bru days, then this is probably one of the trips I'd have sacked off. But, I've lobbed up and now it's time to take my medicine. Stupid stupid ol' Taz. Having failed to scrub the idiocy from my person in the shower, I'm soon wrapped up warm and having pecked her ladyship on the cheek, I'm out in to the cold morning air bound for East Croydon. And I think you can probably guess what's coming next.<br /><br />Buses. I fucking hate buses. Despite it being earlier that a lot of people probably think possible and there being nothing on the roads, there's a distinct lack of the big red bastards. Two arrivals come and go without hide nor hair of one of the things. Now, I'd built in more than enough time to get to Kings Cross for the train, but that plan hadn't involved spending 15 minutes pissing about outside HQ going nowhere. Getting desperate, when a 463 appears I take a gamble and hop on that. Now normally, I wouldn't bother, as this thing goes nowhere near any place I'd usually need to go to. But it does go to Therapia Lane tram stop, which is then a 10 minute trundle to East Croydon, so there is a method to my madness on this occasion. Eventually at my new destination a quick jog over the road means I'm on a tram with no waiting around and I'm finally heading in the right direction.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HJ71tpEZ8fc/W9eEKeRNk0I/AAAAAAAAE1k/My70X9OnkBYGJP8-Kn2X6Sk4vA_aljW2wCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20181027_095651.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HJ71tpEZ8fc/W9eEKeRNk0I/AAAAAAAAE1k/My70X9OnkBYGJP8-Kn2X6Sk4vA_aljW2wCK4BGAYYCw/s400/20181027_095651.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The beautiful North of England</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />Trains. I fucking hate trains. Of course, having been pissed about by buses, when I arrive at Easy Croydon, everything's delayed. Wankers. So another 15 minutes of my time is burned waiting for something to carry me into town. By now, this has eaten sufficiently into my planned travel timing that I'm starting to worry about missing the train of Kings Cross altogether. I mean, last week's delays getting to the meet in Baker Street was annoying, but that simply cost me 30 mins VDT. This could cost me over £60 in wasted train tickets. Eventually, Southern grace us mortals with their presence and I'd trundling through the morning darkness towards Victoria at last. With time now tight, I ensure I'm in the front carriage so as to hit the underground as quickly as possible.<br /><br />A brisk stroll later and I'm on the tube platform in time to see a set of doors close and a train pull out. For fucks sake! Fortunately there's another one in a minute, but by now my patience is being severely tested. Again, I maximise my positioning on the tube when it arrives, ensuring I'm alighting right opposite the exit for the trains. With the Hartlepool choo choo due off at 08:06 and it now being five to, I'll need to get a wriggle on. I leg it from here and eventually emerge into the new concourse at Kings Cross and head for the gates. Here, I find Mr X awaiting with tickets and a "You fucking bellend" look on his boat race. A minute later and having clambered past a womens Gaelic Football team from Hendon (which triggers another bout of PIBCTSD) on what appears to be a busy old service, thanks largely to Southend being away in Sunderland this afternoon. Amazingly, Mr X it seems has finally mastered the art of booking tables on these trips and everyone sarcastically thanks him for this.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PgtENFRR8Wo/W9eEO2_BFeI/AAAAAAAAE1s/vhaBjkOFe7U5VLRyOeYHgP34XWFzJqKUQCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20181027_112346.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PgtENFRR8Wo/W9eEO2_BFeI/AAAAAAAAE1s/vhaBjkOFe7U5VLRyOeYHgP34XWFzJqKUQCK4BGAYYCw/s400/20181027_112346.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Arrival</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />The train rumbles out of London on time, but with numerous people still milling about blocking the aisles as they try &amp; sort out seating and reservations. I for one just want them to settle down so I can go to the buffet car for a cuppa and an excessively priced item of food containing bacon. In the end, I wait until we're past Peterborough before making the short stroll for sustenance. "Alright Dave" says one of the COCs further down the carriage as I pass. Everyone's a fucking comedian eh! In the buffet car, my fun packed morning just keeps on coming as having placed my order, the lass behind the jump discovers all the power is off. Marvellous! Just as I'm on the verge of giving up, the carriage jolts on the line and suddenly everything comes back to life. Annoyingly, this isn't the only technical issue they're having as the card machine is busted too, so as she packs up my sausage sarnie and cup of splosh, I dart back to ponce a tenner off Magnum PI as I've not yet had chance to get to an ATM. Upon my return, I add a cuppa to the order for my benefactor as payment for the loan and then the power bloody goes out again. At which point I rest my forehead on the counter and I find it's cold touch somewhat soothing.<br /><br />Several minutes later however and another jolt thankfully brings the buffet back to life and I'm able to return to my seat with some supplies. Right, can today please stop fucking me around now? From here, the seemingly endless journey North is fairly uneventful. We chat to a few Southend and amongst ourselves to pass the time. But there's only so much small talk we can endure and soon, we're so bored that I and JR take to goading Dr Bell about his lack of Whatsapp on his shiny new and distinctly -more-modern-than-his-last-one phone. In the end, he folds in the face of our childish bullying and hands over the device so that I can first get him a GMail account and then download the app from the Android store. After a few minutes, he's been given a crash course in the popular messaging service and been added to the top secret, VIP members only, Gandermonium group. Everyone in the party is of course delighted at the aged Doctor's arrival into the 21st century, well all except one that is. Dukey.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lgd8ZCOY0eI/W9eEQ0Y9GgI/AAAAAAAAE10/KhDSOYvXvxsnqLrdzu7O-F--GGp5ddHLACK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20181027_133730.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lgd8ZCOY0eI/W9eEQ0Y9GgI/AAAAAAAAE10/KhDSOYvXvxsnqLrdzu7O-F--GGp5ddHLACK4BGAYYCw/s400/20181027_133730.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">They love a head on a pint up here....</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />We've touched on his own telephonic issues on here in the past regarding his stubborn loyalty to his Windows powered Nokia, which over the last few months has slowly had all the more popular apps withdrawn and shut down (Twitter, Facebook). Probably because he's probably the only person left who still owns a fucking windows mobile. Despite our mocking of this situation he's steadfastly refused to consider changing or upgrade, even after Belly got his new Samsung. "I can still fuckin' whatsapp" he'd proudly declare "Until Belly's on there, I'm still more fuckin' technologically advanced than he is!", which as excuses go, is up alongside "But the The bus said we'd put 350 million into the NHS!" and "I vos only following ze orders". Clearly his thinking was that there was no way the famously luddite Doctor would ever be able to create a G-Mail account, let alone download the app AND manage to get it working all on his own. But his logic was clearly flawed as he'd not reckoned on us being utter pricks and now that Magnum and I have breached his final flimsy excuse, he's left wide open to attack from the crew. And he's not happy. "Fucks sake, that's more money I've got to lay out now!" he moans. Happy to help mate, happy to help!<br /><br />Mr X heads off to the buffet on another tea run and shortly after an announcement comes over the PA stating that due to technical issues, said facility is no longer able to offer hot food or drinks. Oh dear. If he's not managed to get a cuppa, he'll be fucking fuming! He reappears a few minutes later, clutching what is actually the last cups of tea that'll be produced on this train today. The jammy bastard! As we near our destination, we're given an ominous warning of the sort of welcome that awaits us as we pull into Selkirk. Is that snow? Christ on a bike, that's definitely snow. We all give a shudder and then thank our stars that we're not the Southend fan who's wearing shorts in our carriage. You must be off your nut mate.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_Y1aHQJioRI/W9eESZ1tLCI/AAAAAAAAE18/4zvTQd5kh046BJzVuuI5th7qdBkKt6V5gCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20181027_135855.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_Y1aHQJioRI/W9eESZ1tLCI/AAAAAAAAE18/4zvTQd5kh046BJzVuuI5th7qdBkKt6V5gCK4BGAYYCw/s400/20181027_135855.jpg" width="193" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Porn</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />After what seems like forever, we're finally pulling into Hartlepool and jump off with the task in hand of hitting the spoons just around the corner for a much needed pint. As we come out of the station, we're slapped in the face with a literal icy blast as what was probably once sleet has now got a little more solid thanks to the somewhat chilly temperatures. Nice. I decide not to go hunting for an ATM at this point and head for the pub to see if they'll do me some cash back instead. I'm not going back out there until we absolutely have to! In the boozer the first pints don't last long and it's over the second one that Dukey questions Robbo's pint of Coors. "I thought you were on that Stoptober thing?". "I am" shrugs Robbo "Just not today". Everyone looks at each other and refrains from checking calendars on phones, just to check we are indeed still in October. Some cans of worms are just best left unopened I think. Like last year, the pub is slowly filling up with locals who are dressed to the nines and seemingly heading elsewhere, we assume Doncaster races. The number of attractively dressed females on display in here certainly has Dirty Barry purring that's for sure. "He's got the horn!" Keepo helpfully points out. Er, that's lovely mate. Just the sort of imagery I wanted in my head.<br /><br />A couple of pints down, we decide on making a move round the corner to the Jacksons Arms. Here we find it a little quieter than last year, but decked out in the usual 'spooky' stuff you'd expect for this time of year. A rather drinkable pint of Speckled Hen is my intake here, something I've not had since about 2001. As we all huddle around the proper log fire in the corner, Dr Bell gets chatting to a Pools fan by the name of Dave. "Sutton are you? Ah, do you know that Gandermonium lot then?". Of course, always keen to remain incognito, Dr Bell proceeds to out the whole fucking lot of us. Cheers. Still, it's not every day that we get to meet someone from the other side of the fence who reads this crap. And anyway, a name check for an oppo fan makes a nice change from just dropping in the usual boats from around GGL. Hello Dave!<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6YSi4Bm0nSo/W9eEUBi6VkI/AAAAAAAAE2E/uxRAcWOiPGsoE_7zACiLgz3YdKPy3t1xwCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20181027_142727.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6YSi4Bm0nSo/W9eEUBi6VkI/AAAAAAAAE2E/uxRAcWOiPGsoE_7zACiLgz3YdKPy3t1xwCK4BGAYYCw/s400/20181027_142727.jpg" width="193" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sugar boost</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />Pints supped here, we next head a bit further up the road to the Brewery Tap. Another cosy pub, we find Jules, Bob &amp; Cathy enjoying a couple of jars here having done the tour of their brewery. "Did you know they had a lake 200ft under the town?" enquires Jules. Erm, no. I didn't as it happens. Still, I do now! It seems this water source is where the brewery pulls one of it's key ingredients from for the beer, so for that alone I don't mind having discovered this little tidbit. Pints downed and with time pressing on, we start the stroll back to the ground where we soon discover that 'Hartlepool' is (probably) old Norse for "Face numbing gale". What should be a 10 minute walk to the Coits club behind the away end takes double as we're having to battle a force 9 into our fizzogs the whole way there. On arrival, I wait a couple of minutes for some feeling to return to my cheeks before ordering. Our stay is brief, but we do at least get to see a properly comical OG on the telly as Middlesbrough take on Derby. Last minute, bit of knee, bit of shin, under no pressure at all. Oh dear son.<br /><br /><b><i>Butler,&nbsp; Bennett, Thomas, Clough, Collins (c), Bolarinwa, Davis, Ayunga, Cadogan, Eastmond, Drinan SUBS: Beckwith, W. Brown, Beautyman, Wishart, Taylor</i></b><br /><br />Outside, the wind hasn't abated and as we enter the away end, it's obvious it's barrelling straight down the ground from our end. The good news is, we should be sheltered from it in our stand, the bad news is that we'll have to defend that for at least 45 minutes. I'm not sure which I prefer to be honest. From the off, despite having that gale at our backs, it's Pools who have the better of the early exchanges with Butler twice pushing away efforts, the first from a decent shot on the turn in the box and the second from a free kick about 20 yards or so out. After this though, we settle more and start getting a few sighters in with Ayunga, Drinan and Bolawinra all showing flashes, but the final ball or touch just lets us down. Then after about 20 mins we win a corner and it's pinged to the back stick. JC gets up, nods back across and then Ayunga heads on goal. A scramble ensues and after what seems like an age, the net shimmies at the other end and a brilliantly Non-League opener is registered. Who scored? Fuck knows! Oh, according to the man on the PA it's Aswad? Fine with me.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kFZ7SgFJXGg/W9eEY1MXbhI/AAAAAAAAE2M/luph2T3cqlgA1bXkUR4EDcnt3ztjFo14wCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20181027_145038.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kFZ7SgFJXGg/W9eEY1MXbhI/AAAAAAAAE2M/luph2T3cqlgA1bXkUR4EDcnt3ztjFo14wCK4BGAYYCw/s400/20181027_145038.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Awww. How sweet!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />From here, we probably have the better of the half, but despite everyone feeling we definitely need a second goal to give us something to cling onto once we're facing Hurricane Baltic in the 2nd 45, we can't quite fashion a killer chance and The best opportunity dropping to Cadogan who's shot is blocked in the box. So we go in just the one to the good at the break and I head for a much needed piss and a pie. In the khazis, Keepo and I discuss the artistic merits of our goal.&nbsp; He's very much of the opinion that it could very well rival Carlos Alberto's overlapping effort in the 1970 World Cup final. What a fool! It was miles better than that! Having scoffed my pie, I'm back in view of the pitch shortly after the restart, but sadly well in time to see what comes next. A minute in a Pools have a corner and it's swiftly followed by a shit bundler of their own to wipe out our advantage. A header near post drops loose and the lad forces it in from a couple of yards out. As starts go to a half, it's pretty rubbish and it soon gets rubbisher. A soft free kick out wide is swung in and catching on the wind it carries straight into the far corner, although later we find out it's clipped Eastmond on the way through. Either way, it's taken about 5 minutes to fuck up all that hard&nbsp;work. We could be in trouble here.<br /><br />Thing is though, the onslaught we're expecting just doesn't arrive and having seen out the next 10 minutes without any dramas, we start to get slowly back into the contest. There's no real major chances before just after the hour mark, Ayunga turns and bursts from deep in what's becoming something of a trademark for him. The defence backs off and even better, their left back has fucked off somewhere entirely. Jonah takes full advantage and slips in Tombo on the angle and he puts a firm side foot past the keeper and into the far corner. 2-2! Game on! This wakes up the hosts a touch and Dale is probably a bit fortunate to escape a second yellow when he out muscles an oppo going towards our goal, but with around 10 to go, it's the U's who strike again. A ball forward hits Drinan as he turns and drops loose. Tombo forces it forwards and Drinan tries and doesn't quite manage to get it under. However, he spots the late arriving Eastmond behind him and rolls the ball back with his studs for the midfielder to tee it up and curl a beauty into the bottom far corner. You. Fucking Beauty.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_HLXmNynvlU/W9eEailFKBI/AAAAAAAAE2Y/ugW9T79MBy0VUIlY_CdeHg-KxMWuDnBYACK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20181027_164001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_HLXmNynvlU/W9eEailFKBI/AAAAAAAAE2Y/ugW9T79MBy0VUIlY_CdeHg-KxMWuDnBYACK4BGAYYCw/s400/20181027_164001.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Get in there!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />With 10 to go, it's now time to do our best to shithouse our way out of here with all the points, but despite some pressure, Hartlepool only have a couple of half chances, with the best probably a snap shot from just inside the box that Aswad diverts over with his head. Finally, the whistle comes and there's both elation and relief for the 68 hardy travelling souls at one end of the ground. Meanwhile the hosts are booed off by what remains of the home support. It's about the most noise they've made all day to be fair. It's weird you know, I kind of get why sides like these don't enjoy being down here as it's basically a reminder of past failure, but you'd think they'd put in some effort to try &amp; intimidate us poxy little Non-Leaguers, rather than just let us outwork their boys and sod off with the points. Still, that's a discussion for the train home as we can't be hanging around here getting all fucking philosophical, as we've got a train to catch in a little under an hour and there's beer to be drunk and supplies to be obtained. To the pub!<br /><br />Admiring the rainbow forming out over the bay to our left on the walk, we're soon back out of the cold and in spoons ordering up a swift pint to calm the nerves and steel us for the long journey back South. Drinks necked, we say our goodbyes to those brave souls spending their Saturday night in the bright lights of Hartlepool and split up into the tried and tested away day foraging teams. Myself and Dukey going for scran with Mr X and Belly heading for the liquid refreshments. Given the complete fucking hash he made of the simple job of carrying the flag bag last year, I decide to lug it with me this time around. Better safe than sorry! Now, last season the chippy around the corner from the boozer here was one of the best we found, what with it's ample supplies of deep fried haggis and black pudding that got some of the crew tingling in areas you wouldn't expect such things to do so, but this season we're to be denied our exotic munchies as it turns out neither were a big seller according to the geezer behind the jump and we're restricted to your average chippy type food. Most disappointing!<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0yzJUnBnuGY/W9eEmSLvTTI/AAAAAAAAE20/vdUMo3W5SxgC4BFyc9WsjRNf64FrNyvcgCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20181027_165621.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0yzJUnBnuGY/W9eEmSLvTTI/AAAAAAAAE20/vdUMo3W5SxgC4BFyc9WsjRNf64FrNyvcgCK4BGAYYCw/s400/20181027_165621.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Plaudits</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />With little other choice, we rustle up some sausage and chips along with a couple of other things and still with a good 10 minutes to the train, we hit the road towards the station. On the corner ahead we spy the man of mystery and the good Doctor laden with carriers of beverages. Our haul is complete. Still, I take the opportunity to wind Belly up by loudly asking him where the flag is, getting some measure of revenge for his uselessness last year. It's only when I stride past him that the stream of excuses pouring from his trap ceases and he realises he'd been had. On the platform waiting to wave us off are several of the local constabulary who seem delighted to be stood around freezing their cods off to deal with less than 30 or so happy and slightly pissed U's fans. Hardly Green Street II is it lads?<br /><br />The COC's appear with 2 gallon plastic containers of god knows what sort of scrunge from the little pub on the platform. Skywalker's cider comes in for particular scrutiny. "I'd want something to drink, not fucking strip a sideboard with" mutters renowned cider aficionado Dukey. The train pulls in and we board before going through the usual ritual of hoofing some bods out of our reserved seats. There's also some familiar faces around as a lot of the Southend lads from the trip up, including Mr Shorts, are present and getting stuck into their own liquid takeaways. Settled in, we start dishing out the grub and the cans. Then things take a turn for the worse "Fucks sake, who bought the bottle of Buckie then?".<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UxX6jyH9Qm8/W9eEvQ-YdnI/AAAAAAAAE3E/4yFlbwnIER4VQM-ZGbX5aqEyEO8_uO-xACK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20181027_172804.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UxX6jyH9Qm8/W9eEvQ-YdnI/AAAAAAAAE3E/4yFlbwnIER4VQM-ZGbX5aqEyEO8_uO-xACK4BGAYYCw/s400/20181027_172804.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">SAUSAGES!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />The journey home is bearable and we swop stories with the Southend lads, as well as songs about Nicky Bailey. Ours of course deals with his donning of a magic hat, whilst theirs declares their admiration to the point where they'd let him have his way with their wives. Other discussions touch upon Glenn Tamplin ("A cunt" apparently. Who knew?) and Mr X's inability to spell the word 'Steve' on whatsapp, with 'Stege' being the closest he can get despite several attempts. Of course, we check to see if this could be claimed as a real word (hey, we're all big Scrabble fans!) and Google informs us it's in fact a small town in Denmark. The things you learn on these trips eh? Keepo from the COCs emerges from the next carriage down to say hello and inform us of Dirty Barry's latest escapades, which it seems involves him being groomed by 3 young Southend fans who've been plying him with Haribo sweets in return for a swig of his cider. Sounds like all sorts of fucking wrong to me, but then again, horses for courses. Back at Kings Cross, we bid our Southend friends farewell and with a hearty wish that we'll both scrape through the first round of the cup and meet the next time out for more beers and swapping of songs about a balding ginger midfielder.<br /><br />A quick tube trip later and we're back at Victoria.&nbsp;As&nbsp; we find there's a bit of a wait for a train back to the Republic, we of course head up to the spoons for a quick one. Be rude not to eh? We're soon light a Dukey as he's shoots off to&nbsp;Morden&nbsp;to meet his bird at some Halloween Party.&nbsp;Aaaah, young love. Naturally, the COCs aren't far behind to join the gathering and then we spot our esteemed Chairman and AB below on the concourse, obviously not long back from Kings Cross themselves. Naturally, AB folds the moment we offer him a beer, that 'one' soon turns into 'several' and in the end, we're staggering for the last direct service to civilisation. On the way home there's talk of heading to the Old Bank for another 'one' before closing, but by now I'm out of cash as well as room for beer, so I leave the remaining idiots to their night cap plans and bail at Carshalton. I'm heading home for my extra hours kip!<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NAMLBQZThXU/W9eExLHzUvI/AAAAAAAAE3M/fap8M3hnZ1MauxOeYJx5mybd0Stt6dWmQCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20181027_212931.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NAMLBQZThXU/W9eExLHzUvI/AAAAAAAAE3M/fap8M3hnZ1MauxOeYJx5mybd0Stt6dWmQCK4BGAYYCw/s400/20181027_212931.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Who says Non-League isn't cool?</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />Oh and some toast. I'd quite like some toast...<br /><br />Taz<br /><br />Tazhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13058062784601238593noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9211878954912175436.post-48595943907523068522018-10-23T21:02:00.000+01:002018-10-24T23:05:37.748+01:00The Infernal DerbyFor the third match in a row, Sutton are once again involved in a little wet spot of cup action. From the lows of seeing the boys being one penalty away from an Irn Bru Quarter-final match against East Fife, to the wonder that is football, with a crackin' topsy-turvy FA Cup victory against the former non-league ultimate double winners of Wealdstone. But this game waits for no man, and we're back down the Lane for the really really proper, real cup action.<br /><br /><a name='more'></a>And as many of you know, I for some silly reason, still hold the Surrey Senior Cup in the highest of regards whilst everyone abandons it. Respect and all that jizz. I think I've actually forgotten why I still defend it to the end, but it's worth it. To me and a hardy bunch at least. Another reason might be that I like the annual moan that I like to have about it when we fail to win it. So let's get on with that shall we...<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-K--BxJIJIHM/W9DLLKPh3ZI/AAAAAAAAF4E/IC2agVGe8CoujosgHDXUoFiAfruKz4YoACLcBGAs/s1600/WP_20181022_002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-K--BxJIJIHM/W9DLLKPh3ZI/AAAAAAAAF4E/IC2agVGe8CoujosgHDXUoFiAfruKz4YoACLcBGAs/s400/WP_20181022_002.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Up to date fixtures...</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Moan moan moan moan moan moan moan moan. moan moan moan moan moan moan Surrey Senior Cup moan moan, moan moan moan moan moan. moan moan moan moan moan History to the Club moan moan moan moan. Moan moan moan moan moan moan moan moan 15 wins moan moan moan. One less than Dulwich. Moan moan moan less than five minutes moan moan moan moan. Moan moan moan moan moan moan moan moan anal phlegm.<br /><br />The opponents for tonight were none other than our very own tenants. No, not Wimbledon Ladies, we got rid of them. Take a bow Sutton Common Rovers. Currently plying their trade these days in the old Combined Counties League and up to a respectable 3rd in the table to boot. And on the back of a four win streak, you'd think that they might fancy their chances of taking the old landlords. Especially against what will probably be a weakened side. The only question that remains is, how weakened?<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QqBaUV8Y2y8/W9DLQRp3z-I/AAAAAAAAF4Y/-stEdtcI3mcA7aSDdWfE3Xk_R8a_9MUvwCLcBGAs/s1600/WP_20181022_008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="901" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QqBaUV8Y2y8/W9DLQRp3z-I/AAAAAAAAF4Y/-stEdtcI3mcA7aSDdWfE3Xk_R8a_9MUvwCLcBGAs/s400/WP_20181022_008.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Who said we have a small squad?</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />The Firm Leader had offered his transport services for tonight's match. Although it did seem that he was more interested in another cups upcoming draw rather than the big one out on the pitch. Because after Saturday's win, we're of course in the FA Cup First Round draw. And as luck would have it, it's on the box at seven o'clock down the club. So it's in the Juke and after a quick pick-up of 'Dorch' we are soon spinning around in the car park looking for a spot to dump the motor.<br /><br />In the club and there are a fair amount of people mooching about waiting for the draw. And don't I fuckin' hate these types of draw. From the off and we have some sort of nouvelle audience participation. With Sutton being ball 75, every single time any ball in the seventies was drawn you'd get a "ooooh" from the assembled crowd. Jesus, even ball 57 got a shout of "It's like our number but back to front". Modern football really is not for me. This sort of shit should be done in a smoky room by two senile old blazers, a bottle of scotch and a velvet bag, not by fucking Dennis Wise on early evening TV.<br /><br />Back to the real reason some of us are here tonight and we get word of the team line-up (but nothing from our own Twatter account). And surprisingly it's a lot stronger than any of us had thought. Seven first teamers? That's either a god send or a face slapping in the making. And it's usually the second one. Outside and we have to head back towards the front to pay our £7 entrance fee. No ticket but we're give a stamp on the hand instead, like a dodgy Glasgow night club. Except here, the drinks definitely ain't fuckin £1.80 a go.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-S1hpUSO6S1M/W9DLNlbkocI/AAAAAAAAF4M/eFfcalTuSlYIEbHtMjeeKwL4snrS75i3ACLcBGAs/s1600/WP_20181022_006.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="901" height="400" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-S1hpUSO6S1M/W9DLNlbkocI/AAAAAAAAF4M/eFfcalTuSlYIEbHtMjeeKwL4snrS75i3ACLcBGAs/s400/WP_20181022_006.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Been clubbin'?</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><b><i>Worner, Okolu, Bolarinwa, Ikebuasi, Ayunga, Bailey, Green, Beautyman, Wishart, Pearce, Taylor. Bench Warmers: McCarthy, McGee, Ferrari, Silano.</i></b><br /><b><i><br /></i></b>Shooting towards the Rec End, and with the sort of team that Sutton have put out, it's no surprise we started the stronger. Taylor was very much in a commanding presence early on and could've had a brace if he'd had his shooting boots on. Sadly he had shit ones on and a poor misplaced shot &amp; the keeper saving with his legs were the only things in his way.<br /><br />Twenty minutes gone, and Sutton finally got their goal. Chasing onto a through ball from Ayunga, Bolarinwa found himself in front of the oppo keeper. Instead of slotting it past him, he decided to try and take it round him. Under pressure from a home defender and with the angle getting tighter by the second, he managed to negotiate both and knock it home. <b>1-0!</b><br /><b><br /></b>For long periods of the first half, Sutton tried to apply more pressure. At one point, we saw Beautyman see his shot clip off the bar. Sutton Common Rovers for their benefit didn't appear to play like a team several divisions below Sutton. No real rough stuff and no basic pump it football style either. Because that's what I would've done. Hit them hard over the park, let 'em know they're in a game. But I'm old fashioned like that. Then again, I'd never played in a game where the other mob could double the rent if you turned 'em over or gave 'em a kicking, so what do I know?<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/--Kf7LnWdrt8/W9DLUxuD6xI/AAAAAAAAF4w/BF68oIYyNQMr5DkDFikQzbKzV0h12T_sACLcBGAs/s1600/WP_20181022_014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/--Kf7LnWdrt8/W9DLUxuD6xI/AAAAAAAAF4w/BF68oIYyNQMr5DkDFikQzbKzV0h12T_sACLcBGAs/s400/WP_20181022_014.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Shitty half-time picture...</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Second half and we take our traditional spots on The Shoebox. Plenty of non-match conversations around as per usual. With the temperature dropping, there is not much action to speak of. Instead, let's discuss the FA Cup draw. Slough at home then? Winnable? Or would you rather another bleedin' away match? My first thought after the draw is "Blackpool away possibly on a Tuesday night?". Doesn't bear thinking about.<br /><br />Midway through the half and Sutton make their first sub. Ayunga is replaced with academy fella&nbsp;<strike>Linda</strike>&nbsp;McCarthy. The game begins to open up a touch as both teams go for goals. Sutton had several chances to finish it off, but it was once again the final ball that let the side down. At the other end SCR manged to get into some dangerous positions against the young back line but I don't recall Worner making any real saves from any of this.<br /><br />With five minutes to go, and Sutton finally break down the SCR resistance. Wishart laid the ball into <strike>Linda</strike> McCarthy. He turned away from his marker on the edge of the box and let off a hard and low shot that beat the keeper. <b>2-0! </b>That should do it.&nbsp;Taylor is soon after replaced with McGee and Sutton manage to see the game off for another cup victory. Two out of three ain't bad.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Cusg9XmlsPk/W9DLWVVLZLI/AAAAAAAAF40/HA8zAqcjxygMjHTXQIguQBe4Ve1Fl4iIwCLcBGAs/s1600/WP_20181022_015.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Cusg9XmlsPk/W9DLWVVLZLI/AAAAAAAAF40/HA8zAqcjxygMjHTXQIguQBe4Ve1Fl4iIwCLcBGAs/s400/WP_20181022_015.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Action...</td></tr></tbody></table><br />After the match and it's straight into the bar for a celebratory drink and a warm up. And yes, before you ask, as it's technically an 'away' match. So there is no need for me &amp; 4 Days to do our usual post-match duties. Union rules and all that. Over all the excitement there is also discussion about other trip that we need to do shortly. Saturday's match? Yet another early start as we're making the long-arsed trip to Hartlepool. Wonder if the Airdrie lot will show up?<br /><br />So there we have it, our cup run(s) continues and more importantly, I, the Duke does not have to observe the usual three day mourning period that an SSC exit demands. No, instead it's waiting for yet another draw and the next round of the mighty Surrey Cup. And this is despite the fact that not only is there still Preliminary Round matches to be completed, but most of the rest of this round isn't going to be played until the end of November. So it'll be a long wait for us proper County Cup fans once again. Enjoy.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MpnG8UYEoPs/W9DMgW3Q-6I/AAAAAAAAF5g/9SqGGeuE0nUs3iS9H2N0GWcm7kI17lfDQCLcBGAs/s1600/WP_20181013_027.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MpnG8UYEoPs/W9DMgW3Q-6I/AAAAAAAAF5g/9SqGGeuE0nUs3iS9H2N0GWcm7kI17lfDQCLcBGAs/s400/WP_20181013_027.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ahh, memories...</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Duke<br />Att. 263<br /><br />Dukehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15782806444120070028noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9211878954912175436.post-18864572727815795982018-10-22T13:38:00.000+01:002018-10-22T13:38:12.373+01:00PIBCTSDWelcome dear readers to another pointless and mildly absurd episode of your favourite Non-League <strike>football</strike> drinking blog. We hope you enjoyed our recent little European interlude as well as Totts special on the old Mitcham Stadium, which has proved to be somewhat popular and may indeed spawn a semi-regular feature on these here pages. However, if you're expecting it to trigger a sea change in style round here with heavily researched, thoughtfully written material laden with facts, you'd be sadly fucking mistaken. This is Gandermonium and it'll remain largely complete bollocks thank you very much.<br /><br /><a name='more'></a>After last week's <b><a href="http://www.gandermonium.com/2018/10/top-of-mornin-to-ya.html" target="_blank">peno heartbreak at Dalymount</a></b> where we ended our European adventure by not so much snatching defeat from the jaws of victory as reaching right on down victory's gullet and into it's lower intestine to dig out that big ol' half digested bit of defeat, we're right back on the cup trail with a somewhat shorter trip this time out to Ruislip to take on old friends Wealdstone. Ok, so it's not exactly the most interesting tie and nor has it got the glamour of Dublin, or playing in the former national stadium of Ireland for that matter, but it is mercifully local and can be done on a travelcard meaning there's no need to interact with fucking Ryan Air at any point. Every cloud I suppose.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-kEOYruiNsso/W83DlpkxabI/AAAAAAAAGD8/X3wze-v85osMl1bU6AHNJUSlFTwIdWlRwCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20181020_123753.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-kEOYruiNsso/W83DlpkxabI/AAAAAAAAGD8/X3wze-v85osMl1bU6AHNJUSlFTwIdWlRwCK4BGAYYCw/s400/20181020_123753.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mmmm. Stickers...</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />Of course, having a game somewhere inside the M25 means that I'm allowed to remain slumbering until the wonderfully late hour of 9am. Joy. Still, with the alarm off I spring into action and once ready a short while later, I'm off out the door bound for the gritty city wannabe of Croydon for a fast train into London and the 11am meet at Baker Street spoons. Well, that's the plan anyway. At East Croydon shortly after 10, I find the first Victoria train somewhat busy. So much so, I decide not to go full on commuter and cram myself into the sort of space that would make a battery hen claustrophobic. It's a main line, there'll be loads more!<br /><br />Er, yeah. The next two are short formed of 4 carriages and I can't get anywhere fucking near those either. What the fuck is going on today? Where are all these people coming from and going to? On closer inspection, I think I have an answer. There's a few home made signs about and a fair few 'bollocks to Brexit' stickers on display. Fucks sake. It looks like today is that people's vote march thingummy up in town. Now please don't misunderstand me, I'm all for the legal right of assembly and protest and all that democratic shizzle, but it wears a bit fucking thin when it starts impinging on my match day VDT. It's almost enough to make you wish for hard Brexit.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jM1Fe0eqO4g/W83DohEZxbI/AAAAAAAAGEE/03MYMDXrjLAWgGZsv2Vddg35GA5NTOycwCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20181020_124349.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jM1Fe0eqO4g/W83DohEZxbI/AAAAAAAAGEE/03MYMDXrjLAWgGZsv2Vddg35GA5NTOycwCK4BGAYYCw/s400/20181020_124349.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oooh. Squiggly line mean sumfink!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />A fourth train is denied to me and in the end having spent almost half an hour going nowhere and getting pissed off, I hop on a service to London bridge instead which of course is completely fucking empty. Don't these people realise that's in central London too? 20 mins later, I'm plodding along and trying to navigate the somewhat confusing maze underneath London Bridge station to locate the underground. Fucking hundreds of millions we've spent to 'improve' this gaff and they've managed to change the transfer to the underground from what literally used to be one set of stairs\escalators into some sort of navigational exercise via about 2 shopping malls. Seamless it is fucking not.<br /><br />Eventually, I make it to Baker Street and emerge into the sunlight to turn right and immediately back into the dingy environs of the pub half an hour after I'd hoped to have done. What? I'm ginger, the sun can get to fuck. Darkness is what I seek. And beer. Definitely some beer.<br /><br />The mob are waiting up the back and after some minor and utterly predictable piss taking for my tardiness, I get a pint in and settle in for the usual bollocks such gatherings trigger. It's fairly low key for us to be honest, but the main thread seems to be that everyone's suffering from a post-Irn Bru Cup traumatic stress disorder. Or PIBCTSD if you like. Dukey is also concerned that his recently reinvigorated love life may soon pass it's 'honeymoon' period and he'll start coming under pressure not to fuck off to football and get pissed up every Saturday, endangering his 6 and a half year unbroken run of not missing a game. Dr Bell and I chuckle. With a few years under our belts now with our corresponding other halves, we're both well past that stage. Just got to hold your nose and push on through fella until you emerge on the other side. Just don't forget a birthday or something though, because then you'll be royally fucked. And not in the good way either.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-I-YxIBMTr9A/W83DsCyv1DI/AAAAAAAAGEM/cfzXX_2BWAY-asOAqYxH9T1yyX2kP2m_gCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20181020_131533.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-I-YxIBMTr9A/W83DsCyv1DI/AAAAAAAAGEM/cfzXX_2BWAY-asOAqYxH9T1yyX2kP2m_gCK4BGAYYCw/s400/20181020_131533.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Well that's not very nice is it?</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />We head off for the quarter to 1 tube and on board we find Pete the Perv. Then it's an uneventful 30 minute trundle out in the suburbs with the only moment of note being Mr X enquiring why Dr Bell isn't at the bar yet. His excuse of "We're only at Wembley Park!" being immediately rebuked for the weak, lame effort it is. Finally off at Ruislip Manor Pete comments "Glad I bumped into you lot, I was gonna get off at Ruislip instead!". Happy to help Peter, happy to help. We are always here to assist and guide those souls which are lost. And besides, we think it's probably your round mate? We head for yet another Spoons and find Greek with Nat &amp; Ozzie sat up at the back. There's a few other faces in as well, with sightings of various COCs and DBDC members. I catch up with Totts at the bar and he seems most chuffed with the success of his <b><a href="http://www.gandermonium.com/2018/10/mitcham-stadium-mysteries.html" target="_blank">Mitcham Stadium piece</a></b>, which the oppo have decided to lift for today's match day programme. All killer, no filler here on Gandermonium folks! Well, unless you're a hard pressed Non-League prog editor that is, then yeah, it's most definitely filler.<br /><br />Pints down and in my case some scoff quickly necked, kick off is fast approaching so we set off in the lovely autumn sunshine towards Grosvenor Vale and a 25 grand shoot out. Oh and a place in the first round as well. Thankfully despite our 'timely' arrival at the turnstiles, all are open and we're swiftly inside awaiting the action to get underway. Here I take a moment to bag my promised free copy of the programme, mainly as Gandermonium has provided not one, but two pieces. Today's lineup sees both JC and Bailey restored to the line up, although we're a little surprised to see Ayunga only on the bench. Still, we've gone with Cadogan and Tombo wide so hopefully that'll give us some impetus going forwards.<br /><br /><b><i>Butler, Bennett, Thomas, Clough, Collins, Bolawinra, Cadogan, Eastmond, Bailey, Taylor, Drinan SUBS: Worner, Davis, Ayunga, Beautyman, Wishart</i></b><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-f_FIreC3YgY/W83DtxUHbVI/AAAAAAAAGEU/lRjTedCd-f0w4v4FZnHafSbNEPuArsf9ACK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20181020_145718.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-f_FIreC3YgY/W83DtxUHbVI/AAAAAAAAGEU/lRjTedCd-f0w4v4FZnHafSbNEPuArsf9ACK4BGAYYCw/s400/20181020_145718.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ready for battle!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />The first half is a bitty, scrappy affair. With the U's playing down the slope, they have the better of things but without really creating too many problems for the Stones defence. With space and gaps to play in at a premium, both sides are a bit too direct and the game suffers as a spectacle. The best we can manage are a close range header at the near post from Cadogan directed straight at the keeper after some good work down the right gets Tombo in to swing one over. Dougs also rattles the crossbar midway through when he finds some rare room just inside the 18 yard box out wide and crashes a shot back off the face. JC also has a decent header blocked in the 6 yard box just in front of the keeper. Meanwhile, the hosts work hard but the most Butler has to do is to collect numerous over hit long balls forwards. The real talking point of an otherwise dour first half comes shortly before the break when Sutton pressure forces an error at the back and the ball breaks to Cadogan off a defender in the box. As he goes to shoot he's clearly pulled back by the defender and can only toe his shot wide with the keeper scrambling. Capping an odd half, the ref awards a corner after a long chat with his lino over the mic, rather than the nailed on peno it should be. Twat. Naturally, he's soon over having a chat with Dos following the incident as the gaffer once more finds himself confronted with incompetence.<br /><br />So, unsurprisingly, 0-0 at the break and we shuffle round to the far end to await hopefully something a little more exciting. Yeah, about that....<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-RmuZjo-DYnY/W83DvPvjOYI/AAAAAAAAGEc/qcvNvi-45XE4N7FWyH3ngLEpAXYR2Y_SgCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20181020_150902.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-RmuZjo-DYnY/W83DvPvjOYI/AAAAAAAAGEc/qcvNvi-45XE4N7FWyH3ngLEpAXYR2Y_SgCK4BGAYYCw/s400/20181020_150902.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Look mate, you can't sunbathe there...."</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />Having largely done nowt but punt the ball to Butler all first half, now going down the slope the hosts come out and are a bit more adventurous after the restart. 5 mins after the restart they're pressuring around our box and when we can't clear one ball in, Josh dives into a tackle and before you can say "Fucks sake, that's a penalty" the ref's blown up and pointed to the spot. Cock it. Up steps an old foe in Bradley Bubb and he doesn't miss, thumping the spot kick down the middle for what I think is their first shot on target of the day. This is a scenario we've seen before I think.<br /><br />We get back at the Stones almost immediately, with Bailey powering a free header over the bar from about 6 yards out from a Dougs corner. The hosts should soon be 2 up however, with a shot from wide only being parried by Butler. The ball runs to the edge of the box and a following up attacker mishits his shot back towards goal. It's just creeping inside the post before JC arrives and despite the attentions of another Stones player, somehow manages to not only smuggle it away but earn us a goal kick! A few minutes later, there's suddenly a way back into the tie. Bennett puts the ball in, the skipper&nbsp;nods down and it comes to Aswad. He takes a touch and with an arm in his back he stumbles. This is all the ref needs and before you can say "Blimey, that's soft!", he's pointed to the spot and we have another penalty. But this time it's one for the good guys. JC steps up and does the biz despite the keeper guessing right and just getting a touch as the ball finds the bottom corner. 1-1. Game on!<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-j5OJKjpKvLQ/W83DwSiOSBI/AAAAAAAAGEk/M2ATPVxmykkl_Ho6lzMvcjJ2kWuyZXNfwCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20181020_160048.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-j5OJKjpKvLQ/W83DwSiOSBI/AAAAAAAAGEk/M2ATPVxmykkl_Ho6lzMvcjJ2kWuyZXNfwCK4BGAYYCw/s400/20181020_160048.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Arrrgh! Bright light!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />The game opens up a little from here and whilst we probably have the better of things with Drinan heading over when well placed and Ayunga nutting wide thanks to Beautyman getting in his way, the Stones have a decent sighter too with former Bath man Pratt heading a ball to the back stick back across Butler, but the keeper flings himself down low to make a great one handed stop. Still, a replay looks nailed on as we head into the last minute or so. Then a rubbish Wealdstone free kick is launched into the box straight to Butler. Unfortunately, about 10 yards away, Aswad and a home player have tangled and both go down. Whistle. Spot kick. Jesus fucking wept mate. There's more to come though as our lot remonstrate with the ref, Bailey does so a little too forcefully and having been booked already cops a second yellow and is sent off. Well, this is it I guess, we're done.<br /><br />As the scoreboard ticks over to show 90 minutes played, Bubb again steps up. But having dispatched the first peno with such confidence, his next effort is, well, shit. He's made to wait a while as the fussy as fuck ref makes sure no one has more than a toe over the 18 yard line, so I'm not sure if that inserts some doubt in his mind, either way he dollies up an absolute stinker down to Butler's left. To be honest, JB simply has to guess correctly and fall on the ball to stop it as its a good 3 feet inside the post. If he'd been wearing a hat, he'd have been able to have dropped that on it with similar effect. Naturally, we take this unexpected lifeline well at the other end. So, replay it is then lads, shame about El PROWSico getting canned on Monday. Oh well.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DZX6C2PHR60/W83DxkhYZiI/AAAAAAAAGEs/waSRJ2iF2ko98Ag6XKcuh3uCySbW92T4gCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20181020_165403.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DZX6C2PHR60/W83DxkhYZiI/AAAAAAAAGEs/waSRJ2iF2ko98Ag6XKcuh3uCySbW92T4gCK4BGAYYCw/s400/20181020_165403.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">#NoPyroNoParty</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />Well, not quite. With the game deep into added time, a hook forwards finds Ayunga central and about 30-35 yards out. He gets it under, controls and with 3 blue shirts around him he turns, leaving them trailing and darts for goal. But rather than unleash the shot we're all expecting, he toes the ball to his left for Aaron Drinan sprinting past him on the overlap. The young Irishman controls, holds off the chasing defender and slips the ball under the sprawling keeper and into the net. All over the park, blue shirts slump to the ground in despair, Aaron wheels away towards the corner flag in delight and we all engage in a bit of what I believe the youngsters these days call 'limbs'. Fucking hell, I'm going to need a sit down after this. As the final few seconds tick away, some reprobate sets off a smoke bomb in our end and we have to take a step forward to see what the hell is going on out on the pitch following the restart. There's time for the hosts to throw the ball forward a couple more times, but the U's defence holds firm and as one last attempt is slashed clear, the ref blows for time and we celebrate again. Bloody cup football, it's never ever dull.<br /><br />With the lads applauded off, we head out and start the trudge back to the pub. As we pass the bar, the yoof foolishly make a bit of a racket that upsets the locals a touch and a couple head out to&nbsp; meet this deadly challenge. To be honest, it's a fucking silly thing to do really, but then again, so is a bloke clearly older than even me offering out 17 year olds. Go back to your pint squire, it's really not that important. Back in the pub, everyone gets refreshments and slumps, exhausted and exhilarated, to start savouring an unlikely win. Here we enjoy a few and chat to some slightly more balanced locals who whilst understandably disappointed, are gracious in defeat and complement us on our support. Outside, there's rumblings of the local yoof forces having been dispatched to deal with our own and that they're waiting at the station. Good luck with that lads. It's in this period I'm introduced to 'the cunt patrol' by some members of the Dogging Club. Now this isn't some sort of offshoot of Barry's setup, but rather relates to the stewarding today where we were being policed by all yellow jacketed members of the hosts staff. But as soon as someone piped up with a C-Bomb, specialist teams in orange jackets appeared to no doubt try and trace the offenders. Like they need a higher grade of training to deal with the really potty mouthed amongst us. Modern football eh, ain't it wonderful?<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_1FwXcxj7ZY/W83DzGPNmhI/AAAAAAAAGE0/TKZ9sMgQi1c19XPD8cnLUnQ5dU8WNwUqwCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20181020_190451.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_1FwXcxj7ZY/W83DzGPNmhI/AAAAAAAAGE0/TKZ9sMgQi1c19XPD8cnLUnQ5dU8WNwUqwCK4BGAYYCw/s400/20181020_190451.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">About as pretty as it gets round here...</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />Most of the away support drifts away over time and eventually we decide to make a move ourselves. JR has shot off, reducing our numbers, but Sleepy Joe is now on as a late sub instead. We hop on a tube back to the bright lights and undecided on how to progress from here, we decide to let our bladders decide. If they're needing emptying by Baker Street, we'll hop off there. If not, we'll go to Farringdon for a pint instead. On the trip back, I come in for some rather unfair stick based on my 'away fan' interview\article in the proggy. First my picture is criticised "How fucking old is that?" mutters Mr X. My claim that I think I've got better looking with age are of course shouted down by other jealous individuals. Another crack comes from an editorial mistake where the <b><a href="https://twitter.com/Gandermonium/status/1054032040356728832" target="_blank">headline declares my name as 'Dave'</a></b>, yeah cheers for that Mr Editor. And finally, my declared age comes into question. "44? Fuck off, you're miles older than that!" scoffs Dukey, which is a bit rich coming from him considering he's been claiming to be 27 since about 2010. I tell you, it's all dirty lies and slander on a day out with this bunch of wankers.<br /><br />Our bladders hold out and we alight at Farringdon, heading to our third Spoons of the day. It seems everyone's watching the pennies after our European adventures. Here over a couple of pints we discuss such subjects as Mr X getting fired from 'working' at Sunhill Police station and wanking over June Ackland. Although these two events are apparently (and rather unbelievably) in no way connected. Go figure. We eventually decide to call it a night ridiculously early though and head for the 9pm train back towards the Republic, but on the platform we lose a member as Joe spots an old mate on the other side and on a spur of the moment decision, heads back upstairs for a couple more beers and a catch up. Still, <b><a href="https://twitter.com/twigboyjoe/status/1053984004200976384" target="_blank">we're sure he'll be fine, even if unsupervised</a></b>.&nbsp; On the train home, more shit is discussed, with school reunions being one subject after I enquire of Dukey about Robbo's unfortunate stumble into unconsciousness recently. I and Dukey declare that we're never likely to ever have reunions at our schools as they're far too council. "And Belly won't either" I add "after his was bombed in the war". "Yeah, by a fuckin' Zeppelin" snorts Dukey. Well quite, it goes without saying really.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qT1MkRSKkXs/W83D4As0NcI/AAAAAAAAGFI/VHfJ7IsP-6IDuA75ck76i6MKTHiHoIzlgCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20181020_195121.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qT1MkRSKkXs/W83D4As0NcI/AAAAAAAAGFI/VHfJ7IsP-6IDuA75ck76i6MKTHiHoIzlgCK4BGAYYCw/s400/20181020_195121.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Going Underground.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />There's talk of going to O'Niells for one as we head south back into our own version of boring suburbia, but I and the flat capped one politely decline and alight at Carshalton as per usual. I because I'm knackered and have exactly a tenner left in my wallet. Him because his new squeeze is waiting for him in the car park albeit not in the way Dirty Barry would advocate, at least I don't think so anyway. Regardless, I turn down the offer of a lift home just to be on the safe side and head for the high street to grab something to eat as I'm now feeling rather peckish. All the way there I'm dead set on a little pizza from GoGo's, but then I realise it's not even 10 pm yet and Saino's is still open, so instead I go for the far healthier option of a sandwich and a bottle of Ribena for the smug 1st round of the FA Cup stroll back to HQ.<br /><br />Rock n' fucking roll baby.<br /><br /><strike>Taz</strike> Dave<br /><br />Tazhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13058062784601238593noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9211878954912175436.post-55015062981428858142018-10-16T18:02:00.000+01:002018-10-24T21:05:58.618+01:00Top o'the Mornin' to YaDamn the bloody penalty shoot-out! It can be such a cruel way to decide a football match. They really should just bring back the old <strike>school</strike> skool way of drawing lots or even just replay the match until there is a winner. That would be easier to stomach instead of watching your team go out in the fashion we did. Then again, at least it wasn't all that confusing ABBA routine bollocks! So every cloud...<br /><br /><a name='more'></a>It's Friday afternoon and I've just finished work in and around the slums that are Tolworth. Even better for me, it's freakin' payday. So this means that I can finally sort out my foreign currency for the forthcoming trip. Stopping off in New Malden and with the folding sorted, I head back to the car to find that some arsehole has tried to box me in with their stupid grey little Mini. It's fag-paper thin, but I manage to get the old girl out. What a cunt! Now if only I parked on a road that I actually have to work on during my route to get back at them. Oh wait...<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YFh_8fYtqck/W8dQlmF1tUI/AAAAAAAAF3w/jwszdmmvz74TLpGQN9Ah1-OgS_FD20DUwCEwYBhgL/s1600/WP_20181013_026.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YFh_8fYtqck/W8dQlmF1tUI/AAAAAAAAF3w/jwszdmmvz74TLpGQN9Ah1-OgS_FD20DUwCEwYBhgL/s400/WP_20181013_026.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One or two stickers...</td></tr></tbody></table><br />I'm home in double quick time and it's not before long that I'm back out of the door and heading in the direction of Sutton. Sporting my work backpack, because Ryanair can fuck right off with their whole list of itemised prices and pay extra for luggage bollocks, my destination is the command centre of Dr Bell. This is where our driver, Tatey, is picking us up from to whisk us down in the direction of Gatwick. Straight onto the A217 and we're right into the middle of a bloody average speed camera zone. Oh great Balls of Fire. Onto the M25 for one junction and we ride inside some traffic that keeps us from making up time. And as some of you know, the M23 is ballsed up until whenever it is with more average speed cameras. And even as you come off the motorway and head towards the airport you have more average speed cameras. Fuckin' Ada! Give it a rest eh fellas?<br /><br />Finally arriving at the airport and it's time to find a parking space. luckily for us, Tatey had already sorted all this shit out in advance. Except the bit about where to actually park. First attempt finds us trying to enter a Valet car parking area. Backing out of that, we head off to another multi storey. Eventually finding somewhere to park. We then head outside for a cheeky last snout before heading on through. Around this time, Tatey waonders aloud "Did I lock the car?". Well you'd better check then fella. He heads off back to the car park to find he had forgot to lock his motor. Talk about having faith in this fair society of ours! Breezing through security, we're even surprised that Dr Bell manages to keep up. Although why he needed to take his shoes off because he'd had a hip replacement is beyond me. We also receive word that Southampton Steve has already touched base and is waiting for us upstairs at the 'Spoons. Well, we need to get a couple of cheap pints in before the expensive stuff starts.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-sNjqWFbWaoU/W8dQLdNAVDI/AAAAAAAAFzI/oaGYVIBR4t4-HUHk3V9iRw2WQOwDxn3MQCEwYBhgL/s1600/WP_20181012_005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-sNjqWFbWaoU/W8dQLdNAVDI/AAAAAAAAFzI/oaGYVIBR4t4-HUHk3V9iRw2WQOwDxn3MQCEwYBhgL/s400/WP_20181012_005.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First drink of the trip...</td></tr></tbody></table><br />We settle down for a couple and await news of our flight. With other members of The Firm already departed, we know that most of the flights today are delayed by various times. The ray of light is, Taz, who is at Luton and appears to not be delayed at all. Pete the Perv on the other hand is coming from Stansted and already knows he's going to be well late arriving. Our seven o'clock flight appears fine until around six o'clock comes and we're informed that there is a forty minutes delay. Not too bad we think. Besides, it's an excuse to have several more pints. Winning. But then the forty minutes delay becomes and hour, and then an hour and a half before we finally get a gate number. Finishing pint number seven, we head off only to end up in a long queue just to enter the bloody departure lounge itself.<br /><br />Spotting one or two other Sutton fans in the crowd. we still have to wait until after nine for anything to happen. The plane arrives and we finally board the fucker. Can't remember the flight itself as I'm asleep before take off and am only awoken when we land on a wet and windy Emerald Isle. And it's never good to sleep during a drinking session. Be warned. By the time we've landed and locate some transport, it's already gone eleven. The question is, Should we stay or should we go? Meeting Taz in the lobby of the hotel, pint of Guinness in hand, we eventually decide that we'd better be polite and meet up with everyone else. Ordering a sherbet, as after all we're in a cheap hotel near the airport and miles away from the city centre, we wait outside for it to arrive. One does turn up, but it's a normal sized motor and there is five of us. Fair enough. Taz, Dr Bell &amp; Southampton Steve jump in the cab and me &amp; Tatey order up another one.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2kH1CH91gno/W8dQM2O13DI/AAAAAAAAF1k/hspIkKOW2D4_wrF8HRFay1Y4ihZXaswSgCEwYBhgL/s1600/WP_20181012_006.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="901" height="400" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2kH1CH91gno/W8dQM2O13DI/AAAAAAAAF1k/hspIkKOW2D4_wrF8HRFay1Y4ihZXaswSgCEwYBhgL/s400/WP_20181012_006.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Shouldn't delay the fuckin' flight then!</td></tr></tbody></table><br />For most of their journey into town, the other lads are informed by the cabbie that the chances of getting a seven-seater at this time of night and was willing to go from the airport back into town were so slim that there was more chance of a Yugoslav Rugby League team entering the Challenge cup next season. Oh and the sherbet that picked just me and Tatey up a few minutes later? A seven bloody seater of course! The "William Searson" on <strike>Faggot</strike> Baggot Street is our destination. And the first taste of what beer prices are going to be like. Fuck me! Over £6 for a pint of cider! Gonna be an expensive weekend. Plenty of familiar faces are in attendance including several members of our illustrious board including Bruce "Give me jut a little more time" Elliott. And not to mention a very "happy" Adrian Barry all enjoying themselves.<br /><br />There were some of our very own who appeared to have enjoyed the festivities earlier too. Didn't we Ozzie? Not like you to fall asleep in the chair is it? Anyway, a few of the boys of course sample a pint&nbsp; or six of the black stuff, but you can be assured that for the like of me &amp; Mr X, that stuff is not to our likeing. Conversations are of course beyond what can be wrote down here but needless to say, Tatey seemed to nearly piss his pants at the whole thing. Eventually with the time gone two o'clock it's time to call it a night. But not before a quick stop off at some local specialist late night eatery called "Burger King". Ever heard of it? Taz was delighted. Something about the food actually being hot? Then it's back to the hotel, with one sherbet coming in at around just over €25 the other nearly €40. That appears to be the difference from one going thorough all the red lights and the other through the tunnel and about 3 tolls. Still it's gone three o'clock and I'm tired....<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3jaWJtWp1YQ/W8dQTb9e0NI/AAAAAAAAFzo/wFC3dl70p_swEvBNkkLrPz41lWOrr29igCEwYBhgL/s1600/WP_20181013_003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3jaWJtWp1YQ/W8dQTb9e0NI/AAAAAAAAFzo/wFC3dl70p_swEvBNkkLrPz41lWOrr29igCEwYBhgL/s400/WP_20181013_003.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lover, not a fighter...</td></tr></tbody></table><br />The alarm goes of at some gawd awful fuckin' hour Saturday morning. Showered and changed and we're down for a standard Premier Inn breakfast of anything and everything that's about. So the plan of action for today? Standard Gandermonium fare of hitting up a boozer at eleven o'clock of course. There were plenty of others arriving throughout the day so we needed to be on our toes. The weather for the day? Pissing it down as always. A seven-seater is ordered and arrives to take us to the first boozer of the day. With Irish Pete making a day-trip, he's already been designated the local knowledge/travel guide. Well he is <strike>a Paddy</strike>&nbsp;from Dublin after all. Although, this doesn't stop him from giving us the name of the pub for the sherbet to drop us off to, that when we arrive has a fella outside sweeping up and saying that he doesn't open until twelve. And furthermore, most pubs around that area don't either. WTF?<br /><br />With Irish Pete finally contacted and located, he welcomes us over to another pub back over the river. A simple journey, only made shit by the constant falling rain. "The Flowing Tide" is the first pub and we settle down for a a quick pint or two to rally the troops. Irish Neil (no relation to Scouse Neil), a friend of Irish Pete and sometime GGL visitor makes an appearance. We also receive word from the one-day wonders that there are plenty of Sutton fans on the plane from Gatwick heading over. Next on the recommendation list is "The Confession Box". Here we're joined once again by Ozzie and the rest of the gang making the trip: The Firm Leader, Crockett, Magnum P.I. &amp; Ipswich Lee. It's also here that a joke running between me &amp; Irish Pete for what seems like forever comes to fruition. I won't bore you with all the details, but he plonks right in front of me a neat Bushmill's Whiskey. None of your papist muck here! But even at midday, not exactly my drink of choice.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TsjNj0gCPpc/W8dQZvusi_I/AAAAAAAAF3c/FEnSAXEiaJQpqSoNkk0RUe8QbpmHqEvxACEwYBhgL/s1600/WP_20181013_013.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TsjNj0gCPpc/W8dQZvusi_I/AAAAAAAAF3c/FEnSAXEiaJQpqSoNkk0RUe8QbpmHqEvxACEwYBhgL/s400/WP_20181013_013.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Reminds me of Torquay strangely...</td></tr></tbody></table><br />It's now off to "Lannigan's" were there are even more Sutton fans hanging around. Arriving we find a fella trying to fix the door that seemed to been damaged the night before. Inside we come across some members of the new Sutton Cocktail Crew. Enjoy you executive upgrade at your hotel did you lads? With a cab rank right outside the pub, it's a god send and eventually after a couple more beers its time to jump into any available motors. The sherbet I was in with Crockett &amp; Ipswich Lee had a driver who was so talkative, I'm surprised we got a word in edge ways. But fair play to the fella as he was very knowledgeable in what he knew. And it's not before long and we see the floodlights of <strike>Daily Mail</strike> Dalymount appear on the horizon.<br /><br />Walking down a narrow alley in between two houses, we come across the entrance to the ground. Plenty of stickers for Taz to get all giddy about too. It's €15 for the privilege and after waiting patiently to receive my fiver change it's all into the bar for more beer. A small and quaint place that wouldn't go amiss back home, mainly as it seems the whole place is occupied with Sutton supporters. There seems to be plenty of boat races I've never come across before and even some that I would never imagine would ever set foot away from a Sutton match except down Gander Green Lane. It seems this Scottish Cup stuff has caught the imagination!<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4z3Xhx0c-Ug/W8dQcBlCxdI/AAAAAAAAF3c/vB3fcgrm7EkKMaC-rP5NbpFseG7WADuOgCEwYBhgL/s1600/WP_20181013_017.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="901" height="400" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4z3Xhx0c-Ug/W8dQcBlCxdI/AAAAAAAAF3c/vB3fcgrm7EkKMaC-rP5NbpFseG7WADuOgCEwYBhgL/s400/WP_20181013_017.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wow, a cigarette machine...</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Taking a quick butchers at the former 'Home of Irish Football', you can see why as the place was very much in a state of disrepair. It's always a bit sad to see stadiums like this when they're past their former glory, but still an impressive old heap. With everyone in one stand, although I was told later that sometimes they open the end to our left, the rest of the place was like a ghost town with only a smattering of flags at the far end.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vUumwFeO15g/W8dQlXOrRAI/AAAAAAAAF1k/tA0UNa0fIp06ttD-uZo3MVpptuDq0-u4wCEwYBhgL/s1600/WP_20181013_027.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vUumwFeO15g/W8dQlXOrRAI/AAAAAAAAF1k/tA0UNa0fIp06ttD-uZo3MVpptuDq0-u4wCEwYBhgL/s400/WP_20181013_027.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Glad to be here <strike>Daily Mail</strike> Dalymount...</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><b><i>Worner, Bennett, Thomas, Clough, Bolarinwa, Ayunga, Eastmond, Brown, Wishart, Taylor, Drinan. Bench Warmers: Davis, Beautyman, Cadogan, Beautyman, Butler.</i></b><br /><br />The rain is still coming down as the game kicks off. As expected, Bohemian come out of the gate fast&nbsp; with a game plan that seems to involve them scoring early. Another thing that was quite expected, but hoped not to be the case, was the state of refereeing. And once again it was as bad as listening to modern 'music'. I don't mind if the ref decides he's gonna either lay down the letter of the law (anal) or try and let the game run (lazy). But fella, what ever it is, you really need to do it for both teams.<br /><br />The home side had the better of the early exchanges. Several crosses weren't dealt with and Worner was called into action more times than he was for the whole of the previous round's match. Sutton's first corner did result in a goal but it was clear that Bolarinwa was in an offside position when he tucked it home. Sutton's other best chance fell to Tombo as well, his rising shot into the top corner of the goal was well tipped over by the home keeper.<br /><br />A great example of really shit officiating was when in the middle of the park, Tombo gets scythed down. The ref obviously needs to give the free-kick but doesn't produce a card? Wow! Compared to our soft ones, a remarkable bit of one eyed fuckwittery. Faced with his third arsehole ref in as many weeks our Lord Dos is not happy with this and may/may not have called into question the refs objectivity as well as his parentage. Either way, he's sent into the stands for the duration.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-sypRO9EXZxc/W8dQpemFEkI/AAAAAAAAF3w/C0nKfGXQ2jsbSfcJ1zd2oyejTE9wD_b-ACEwYBhgL/s1600/WP_20181013_032.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-sypRO9EXZxc/W8dQpemFEkI/AAAAAAAAF3w/C0nKfGXQ2jsbSfcJ1zd2oyejTE9wD_b-ACEwYBhgL/s400/WP_20181013_032.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Classic Irish Architecture...</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Within ten of the restart, Sutton make their first change. Davis comes on for Brown. Clough takes a yellow for the team with our only 'real' booking of the arvo and both teams settle down as players begin to tire. The entertainment factor is reduced that much that a highlight would be when a rogue clearance from Bohemians, somehow ends up trapped in the netting above the travelling support. Speaking of which, how many made the trip? I've heard several estimates range between 200 to 300.<br /><br />Both teams had danger men with Sutton's being Ayunga. A right handful attacking down the left as he would cut in and cause plenty of problems for the home defence. Some were a bit surprised to see him leave the pitch when Sutton pulled a double substitution with ten minutes to go. But I guess you have to look at the whole bigger picture thing and think a little long term into the season. FA Cup next week innit.<br /><br />Cadogan &amp; Lafayette were brought on for Bolarinwa &amp; Ayunga, and from here Sutton really went for it. Clough probably had the best of the chances as we had to watch as his diving header from close range fails to make it on to target. With time fast running out it appeared that we were going to be a few minutes short of grabbing a historical win.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-S8w9NbP4vZU/W8dQ5Pxs1-I/AAAAAAAAF3c/ywQ-xfwIrHMTacFkS4oQ7RV4WdHD-6gHQCEwYBhgL/s1600/WP_20181013_048.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-S8w9NbP4vZU/W8dQ5Pxs1-I/AAAAAAAAF3c/ywQ-xfwIrHMTacFkS4oQ7RV4WdHD-6gHQCEwYBhgL/s400/WP_20181013_048.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An idiot official...</td></tr></tbody></table><br />So, we head towards penalties and not surprisingly, it's all done at the other end with some of the home support now allowed to head behind the goal without any interference from the stewards. It's a very Sutton penalty shoot out and at one point we're 3-2 up with two chances to win the tie thanks to two great stops from Worner. Needless to say we fuck it up, with Cadogan and Eastmond both missing before we get to see Thomas miss the final spot kick, crashing it off the underside of the bar and out. There is a minor pitch invasion by the latest casting audition for a new Boyzone or Westlife group, but the away support are silenced. Been a while since we've seen a penalty shoot-out defeat. I reckon it's probably going to be something like Raynes Park away in that other big cup competition, the Surrey Senior Cup a few years back.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-P2CPvS5osDY/W8dQ9VmL7rI/AAAAAAAAF3A/7eNHWoOtFEMH6cgjbVo1dYIzV1ErsPviwCEwYBhgL/s1600/WP_20181013_056.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-P2CPvS5osDY/W8dQ9VmL7rI/AAAAAAAAF3A/7eNHWoOtFEMH6cgjbVo1dYIzV1ErsPviwCEwYBhgL/s400/WP_20181013_056.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from the Gods...</td></tr></tbody></table><br />After the match, and we head back to the bar for a couple of jars. No matter who it's against, I hate losing. No, I really hate losing. Losing against Arsenal in the FA Cup depressed me about as much as the defeat to Guiseley the Tuesday before it, despite going all the way up there knowing full well we would be sacking it off. So yeah I hate losing. But to lose at penalties, especially from the position we were in, is a bitter pill to swallow. Drowning our sorrows, rumours begin to filter through (from not only Sutton fans, but Bohemian supporters as well) that Thomas' shot may have actually crossed the line. Damn! Even more gutting if that turns out to be the case and properly sums up that fuckin' ref. Full credit to the boys though as they gave it go. Makes you wonder what could've been if we were at full strength. It also makes you wonder what level of football the Scottish &amp; Irish are at.<br /><br />Crockett &amp; Ipswich Lee leave us here, with a few extra free tickets to hand, for the International match down the road. That turned out well didn't it lads?! The rest of us meanwhile decide to try more local drinking establishments. All except Irish Pete who left us as well as he was due to fly back to Blighty. But judging by the state he was in, he might not have made it as he staggered back down the alleyway! Halfway to a boozer called the Gravediggers we stop off at a place called "The Whitworth". The place seemed more like a T.G.I's than a boozer with it's neon signs. Topping the whip up for the third time today, we settle down waiting for everyone else to arrive. Even Amber Aleman got in on the action by contributing to the collection. Taz &amp; Southampton Steve also snuck in a cheeky stop off at a chippy on route. Millsy was even to appear for a few jars and do what he normally does.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-5y_GpMGNLLs/W8dRGcgbl8I/AAAAAAAAF3k/Z1gXmCF-RXkpNb_oLrhKvUUKNc3LPZmiwCEwYBhgL/s1600/WP_20181013_068.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-5y_GpMGNLLs/W8dRGcgbl8I/AAAAAAAAF3k/Z1gXmCF-RXkpNb_oLrhKvUUKNc3LPZmiwCEwYBhgL/s400/WP_20181013_068.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Five Rings...</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Further on down the line we finally arrive a the Gravediggers, which was actually named "John Kavanagh". A proper old <strike>school</strike> skool boozer that backs onto a cemetery. The traditional Saloon and Public bar, with even old fogey half-sized internal doors between seats. Stone floor and wooden benches that impressed all the elder drinkers in the group. Finding a place in the corner, next to a fake fire, we spot what seems to be a game on the wall that has several hooks with numbers above them. Underneath is a basket. Asking "John" behind the jump, he informs us this is a pub game called "Rings". Simply enough you throw six rubber rings at the board and tally up your score. Turns out that apparently you're meant to work yourself around the board, a bit like in darts, but we're nowhere near good enough for that sort of shit.<br /><br />With most people having a go there were various levels of competence on show. Dr Bell was the first to reach over 100pts, I was the only one to have five out of six rings hook onto points and Southampton Steve had the most memorable career as a rings player. How he managed to achieve what he achieved, will stick with us that witnessed it. Legend! I can see why he went home after that. And not because he was flying to Spain in the morning. Eventually it's time to catch up with the others and we order up some cabs. Failing to get hold of any local sherbets, we rely on Uber&nbsp;to come to our rescue. Needless to say, in true Gandermonium fashion, all cabs are secured. Except the last one. Me, Pete &amp; Tatey fail miserably. And this is despite that two of us have the app on their phones. Should've used my Windows Phone then! Well, if Windows phones had the Uber app that is...<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-at9qqLxgHOA/W8dRHFYZecI/AAAAAAAAF30/_s3UmZGj0M4O3vupKUY9pp4jBqFz6AlGwCEwYBhgL/s1600/WP_20181013_069.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-at9qqLxgHOA/W8dRHFYZecI/AAAAAAAAF30/_s3UmZGj0M4O3vupKUY9pp4jBqFz6AlGwCEwYBhgL/s400/WP_20181013_069.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Another 'ring' failure...</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Using various different options, we eventually somehow get hold of transport and when it finally turns up (no thanks to some sort of graveyard tour bus that blocked the route), we head back into town. Lannigan's is the meet up point again and here we come across some of the worst singing we've seen since my Skin &amp; Blister tried the Japanese art of karaoke once. It's so bad that we can't stand it for it long and head off to find some other place to carry on drinking.<br /><br />Don't know where we ended up. but this place had the most inquisitive bouncer ever. Whilst speaking to him outside, every person that tried to gain entry was given the simple question of "Have you been drinking?" Anyone that said yes was refused entry. Wow, in the land of heavy drinking as well. And no one was safe from this refusal. A couple of Swiss fellas were denied access despite the fact that they couldn't understand the question and probably thought they were being asked "Would you like a drink?". Even some local youngster, who claimed that he was driving and not drinking tonight, was also given the old heave-ho!<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FbKy5TiX9pU/W8dRJAQFTtI/AAAAAAAAF3k/3ogCkFkxfaMSbU-FgLaMyuOYjDtH2ynCACEwYBhgL/s1600/WP_20181013_071.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="901" height="400" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FbKy5TiX9pU/W8dRJAQFTtI/AAAAAAAAF3k/3ogCkFkxfaMSbU-FgLaMyuOYjDtH2ynCACEwYBhgL/s400/WP_20181013_071.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First Vodka with 'actual' orange...</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Inside and we sink several more beers. We meet up with Harry Potter and even bump into some girls that not only came from Epsom but one that worked at St Helier. Time was marching on and with an early rise in the morning a few of us decide to call it a day. Things would've been so different if we'd won the match though I reckon. Hailing a cab and you have Mr X in the front and the back consisting of The Firm Leader, me &amp; Ozzie. Another unique experience I can say. Arriving back into the hotel room and Mr X is dead to the world as soon as his head hits the pillow. With a quick phone call to make, I decided it's best to head outside. Forgetting the jacket is not the best idea as it's a touch brass monkeys outside. I spot a McDonald's in the distance and head over to see if it's still open. It is! Result! I head in and look to curb a Vanilla Milkshake habit I have, but the buggers don't sell it. Oh well. Several Double Cheeseburgers it is instead. Whilst waiting, I get to bear witness to a rather random request.<br /><br />Next to me is a rather 'tired &amp; emotional' woman who appears to have come from the local discotheque across the way. For some reason, known only to this young lady, all she wanted to do was buy a burger bun with salad. No meat whatsoever. But the effort of trying to order it was a tad excessive. Seriously, who orders a burger without the burger? Fuckin' weird that was. Eventually I finish my phone call and head back to the hotel and bed. Others seem to have had a good time with reports that Crockett &amp; Ipswich Lee, who'd booked a double room, had to do a bit of spoonin' and this was with a fully clothed Crockett as well!<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gi0ek0whffw/W8dRLv4lcKI/AAAAAAAAF3w/_PByA24a0SwHMsDJRKHcwFrz98nVjRnQgCEwYBhgL/s1600/WP_20181013_073.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="901" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gi0ek0whffw/W8dRLv4lcKI/AAAAAAAAF3w/_PByA24a0SwHMsDJRKHcwFrz98nVjRnQgCEwYBhgL/s400/WP_20181013_073.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beer</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Sunday's alarm goes off at around eight o'clock and just before I roll back over to continue my wander into dreamland, I'm reminded by the ever alert Mr X, that it's an alarm just solely for me. Damn him and his later bloody flight! I very slowly get ready as I consider my options. The quarter to nine or quarter past nine shuttle bus to the airport? At this point I'm definitely leaning leaning towards the latter. Expect there is one major obstacle in this plan. And that is that there is no quarter past nine shuttle bus. A standard case of 'shithousery' there it seems as it appears <i>except</i> for a quarter past nine departure, there is a shuttle bus every half hour. Why? Fucked if I know! Anyway, I'm downstairs getting some breakfast as some of the others begin to appear.<br /><br />Well, everyone except Taz &amp; Dr Bell who are dead set on getting the non-existent quarter past nine it seems. Dr Bell appears as he wanders towards to restaurant for breakfast. Being advised of his only option and he's soon heading back upstairs to get his bag. He arrives back just as the shuttle does, but Taz fails to appear. Guess he'll be getting a sherbet then! The ride towards the Airport is filled with the usual debriefing of what happened the previous night. As always there is some discrepancies between events. Did some of the others head off after us? Did they visit one or two other places? No one can be sure so we can only assume as to what actually happened.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kBt7jIfwbJE/W8dRNeysVhI/AAAAAAAAF3k/9HnmCzPNpc8DyGOb25HP2ocXVGFTV93EgCEwYBhgL/s1600/WP_20181014_003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kBt7jIfwbJE/W8dRNeysVhI/AAAAAAAAF3k/9HnmCzPNpc8DyGOb25HP2ocXVGFTV93EgCEwYBhgL/s400/WP_20181014_003.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fuck off Ryanair...</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Arriving at the airport and after a cheeky snout we head inside to find a bloody whopping queue of people trying to get through security. Good job there was no 9:15 bus! It's not moving that fast as the non-smokers are spotted not too far away. Taz even eventually makes an appearance at the back and manages to catch up with us. Somehow I'm in a different queue to everyone else but sail towards the scanners. Surprisingly through with no bother (except once again, my chain wasn't considered real enough to set the scanners off it seems) I'm then greeted with plenty of people getting their bags searched. So much so that the trays are now getting backed up to the point that none are coming down the rollers any more. Eventually my stuff arrives and despite the delay, I'm ready to go before the others stumble through.<br /><br />Watching all these people getting their stuff searched does bring up some question; "Don't these people understand what to pack?" The amount of people that have liquids in their luggage is so surprising. But the ultimate award for "Smuggler of the year" goes to the bird that was trying to get several jars of Jam through. Yes Jam. Glass jars of various flavours. Don't think our offer to help eat them went down too well either, mainly because they didn't have any bread I guess. Meeting up with the rest of the Firm we hang around until we get our gate number, joining several other Sutton supporters in waiting, we see as our plane finally arrives. During this time, the staff at Ryanair are looking for any bags that they could put in the hold. Fuck knows why. And despite getting away with it for so long, Taz gets caught is is given the dreaded yellow tag. "Fuck that!" he declares and on route to the plane he removes the tag with the grace and skill you'd expect of a ginger ninja. The fact that Tatey who was giving him a lift home would have had the right fuckin' hump had he been made to wait in baggage reclaim clearly had nothing to do with it.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KE6FrQpSF-E/W8dRPJo07sI/AAAAAAAAF3o/ObNAov800kwX1H-yZ-50bU8VqC6yZwyIACEwYBhgL/s1600/WP_20181014_006.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KE6FrQpSF-E/W8dRPJo07sI/AAAAAAAAF3o/ObNAov800kwX1H-yZ-50bU8VqC6yZwyIACEwYBhgL/s400/WP_20181014_006.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Welcome to England.</td></tr></tbody></table><br />To be fair I missed the flight home as I settled down to get a spot of the old forty winks. And this is despite the fact that there was the trademark screaming child balling their eyes out all the way home. I'm only awoken when the plane touches down back in Blighty. And oh look, it's raining! Just what I wanted after this weekend. Having made alternative arrangements, and not needing a lift now from Tatey I get picked up bang on time and am whisked home to spend the rest of the day in bed. The ten hours of sleep over the weekend appeared to be catching up[ with me. At least I wasn't Crockett, who was planning on having to make a roast for his nearest and dearest. So special that it involved the use of <strike>corn</strike> Quorn. Weirdo! Seems he burnt it as well if whatsapp later on was anything to go by.<br /><br />So our Scottish cup adventure has ended already. Got to say that I'm pretty disappointed it has to be fair. But then again my bank manager isn't! Jesus we've spunked some money recently. Still, the positive to take out of this is that Gateshead away is still due to be on a Saturday. Fuck doing that on a Tuesday! We now move on to yet more cup action as we enter the FA Cup with a little trip to somewhere called Wealdstone. Never heard of it. And with the prize money these days being double of what it used to be, getting a win is more important than ever. That also reminds me, Halifax away train tickets are on sale now too. Jesus this whole football supporting lark is getting fuckin' expensive. Enjoy!<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-q43FEOkx8H4/W8dRPMNDC5I/AAAAAAAAF30/oNF5f7DZHlYC8W-PbwFWGnPfh55xrNvAwCEwYBhgL/s1600/wp_ss_20181013_0001.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="768" height="400" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-q43FEOkx8H4/W8dRPMNDC5I/AAAAAAAAF30/oNF5f7DZHlYC8W-PbwFWGnPfh55xrNvAwCEwYBhgL/s400/wp_ss_20181013_0001.png" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Duke's extensive blog notes for trip</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Duke<br />Att. 1,130<br /><br />Dukehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15782806444120070028noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9211878954912175436.post-64698466377902043832018-10-09T20:19:00.000+01:002018-10-24T21:05:42.665+01:00A Bru-Dash-Ik ExperienceThere is a little saying in football often referred to by us old timers that goes along the lines of "a good days drinking is usually spoilt by the ninety minutes of football". Well, once again, and not for the first bloody time, this was very true as the boys of the Firm made the long-arsed trip to the very, very, very northern county of Cumbria.<br /><br /><a name='more'></a>The over the top expenses of following a modern day&nbsp;<strike>Vauxhall</strike>&nbsp;Conference side are coming around thick and fast at this moment in time. Not only do we have the little mentioned trip to the Irish Free State or whatever it's called these days (which I'm covering for some bloody reason) to deal with, we've also got trips to Barrow &amp; Hartlepool as well this month. And that's not before the cup draw (which was the thankfully cheap Wealdstone away) that no doubt will give us another away day. Never before have I seen grown men praying for a home game like I have recently. You would think that <b><a href="http://www.gandermonium.com/2018/10/salty-protein_1.html" target="_blank">Leyton Orient</a></b> away was good enough. But you'd be all wrong.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-sKaK1MQpEMg/W7zdE_27MfI/AAAAAAAAFwc/xkl7iWLd-tIICUHUrlYVwKprLG7yA00EwCEwYBhgL/s1600/WP_20181006_001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-sKaK1MQpEMg/W7zdE_27MfI/AAAAAAAAFwc/xkl7iWLd-tIICUHUrlYVwKprLG7yA00EwCEwYBhgL/s400/WP_20181006_001.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fuckin' early...</td></tr></tbody></table><br />We must also mention that whilst some of us were enjoying our trip (and, according to some, a classic "shithousery" win) to the East End of London, others were not so fortunate. Especially when it involves a drunken tale. Take a bow please Robbo, because this'll be the only mention you'll get in the fuckin' blog! Sacking off football for a high school reunion is something no one has considered. Ever. Well, certainly not us!<br /><br />But Robbo did it in style. And luckily for us, and all of you, he managed to make a right pigs ear of it.&nbsp; And then stupidly told us all about it! He made the reunion and everything is going swimmingly. Meeting old school friends and former teachers. He even ended up in Sutton with some of them afterwards. The fun only started when he went home following all the festivities. Trust him to not only be a little worse for wear, but somehow he managed to fall over and knock himself spark out. What a right wally!<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TwOhRg_L01Q/W7zdE4-vfpI/AAAAAAAAFqo/X_Zo4GHwm2EBV30TY-1qeT0Uo33adIWbwCEwYBhgL/s1600/WP_20181006_005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TwOhRg_L01Q/W7zdE4-vfpI/AAAAAAAAFqo/X_Zo4GHwm2EBV30TY-1qeT0Uo33adIWbwCEwYBhgL/s400/WP_20181006_005.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Still too fuckin' early...</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Quarter to five the alarm was set for. And bang on four-forty-fuckin'-five it went off on the Saturday morning. What is this? A weekday day or somethin'? Dragging myself out of bed and it's in the shower, a large dose of Gods Own Brut later and I'm leaving the house. Passing a couple of drunks falling out of a sherbet after their Friday night out, you begin to think to yourself&nbsp; "<b><a href="http://www.gandermonium.com/p/why-we-bother.html" target="_blank">Why Do We Bother</a></b>". Well, there might be one or two reasons there...<br /><br />The train was due in at Carshalton at 0549hrs. Arriving at the station to find the barriers open was a surprise, but I decided to tap-in anyways. I'm an honest fella. The train arrives and in one of the carriages I find a sombre looking Dr Bell &amp; 4 Days. Crockett &amp; Mr X were also due to be making the trip. So it was the five idiots silly enough to be doing this shit today. The hardcore. The chosen few if you will.<br /><br />Arriving at St Pancras, no barriers once again, so I'm now a bit pissed I'd bothered back at Carshalton and it's a slow saunter in the direction of Euston. With a train at 0730hrs we have plenty of time to kill so we go looking for some breakfast, and with the time still before seven, our options are very limited. So much so that 4 Days has to use the wonder of modern technology to find a little cafe not too far away. And a little gem of a find it was to be. A bacon sandwich with a cup of tea for £3.50 is a n absolute fuckin' steal these days in the centre of the Big Smoke.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jbLr0m-BaL0/W7zdVrhFYFI/AAAAAAAAFvE/w-abNMNoR68VOxeEWOorRbF7ln5dHIEXwCEwYBhgL/s1600/WP_20181006_026.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="901" height="400" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jbLr0m-BaL0/W7zdVrhFYFI/AAAAAAAAFvE/w-abNMNoR68VOxeEWOorRbF7ln5dHIEXwCEwYBhgL/s400/WP_20181006_026.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Quinno!</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Heading back to the station and we find the other two reprobates and make hay towards the train. SHOCK! HORROR! It seemed that Mr X had also actually managed to book a table! Yeah, I know, a fuckin' miracle for once. Crockett also managed to reserve a couple of seats right next to us. How did he do that I wonder? Does he work for British Rail or something?<br /><br />The trip up was a quick (0730hrs to 0954hrs) dash to Lancaster. Nothing much to report as it was a very sober affair. Well, for everyone except Crockett, who managed to have several bottles of Bud on the way. Would they affect him later I wondered? Being a train <strike>spotter</strike>&nbsp;employee he also managed to get himself some cheap rail fares. For example the Lancaster to Barrow return part of the journey worked out at £12.30 for us. For this git, a measly £3.65! That's a days drinking up in these parts.<br /><br />Plenty of the usual shit is spoken between grown men that would disgust most people. We also had Crockett show us a video of what was found in a work toilet at some gawd forsaken railway station somewhere. No, it's not what you think, but in fact it was some sort of <strike>tapeworm</strike> strawberry lace swimming around. Mr X also did his best to stand in for Taz on the trip with enough gas emanating from his backside that it even had several strangers commenting that the bog at the end of the carriage appeared to be backed up. But the less said about what he done to that poor banana he brought along, the better.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Ve_kx1aljGg/W7zdJpElUKI/AAAAAAAAFsU/Rx-vpIK1KJ0g-4fxihqT5MJPEH1CJRSKgCEwYBhgL/s1600/WP_20181006_010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Ve_kx1aljGg/W7zdJpElUKI/AAAAAAAAFsU/Rx-vpIK1KJ0g-4fxihqT5MJPEH1CJRSKgCEwYBhgL/s400/WP_20181006_010.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">British Rail saving paper right there...</td></tr></tbody></table><br />With yet again more strike action going on within the world of trains, our options were somewhat&nbsp; limited once we got to Lancaster. Basically we had the option of a train at ten o'clock or at one PM. So obviously arriving on a train five minutes to ten appeared to be the perfect timing. That is until a certain someone turned up with a carrier bag of beer. Well three bottles of Coors Light at least...<br /><br />Take a bow former Sutton United defender Tony "get your cock out in a Carshalton team photo and also end up on the front page of the non-league paper after a Hat-trick against Basingstoke" Quinton. What a <strike>plonker</strike>&nbsp;legend! And despite the fact that he only had a couple couple of beers with him, they were soon drunk as he gave us a run down of the highs &amp; lows of life 'Oop North' since we'd last seen him. Crockett also showed a few of us another video, this one called "The Blow Off". 'Interesting...' was the only response to this little showing from an experienced Dr Bell.<br /><br />We arrive in Barrow just after eleven and are a bit surprised to see Indy &amp; Sean Connery's Stuntman get off our very own train, we thought they were staying in Barrow. We were also graced by the presence of the legend that is Dirty Barry representing the DBDC. And he decided that he'd better hang around with us for the duration considering no-one else from the circle was making the trip up. First words from him were "I sat on the train next to a rather attractive young women and...". Which is how it always starts for him.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pmT-KRbjHnw/W7zdgyxxnwI/AAAAAAAAFtE/PtvgX6HLMXoyIzb7uJU0c6PCJIig7pdPwCEwYBhgL/s1600/WP_20181006_041.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="901" height="400" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pmT-KRbjHnw/W7zdgyxxnwI/AAAAAAAAFtE/PtvgX6HLMXoyIzb7uJU0c6PCJIig7pdPwCEwYBhgL/s400/WP_20181006_041.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Northern prices...</td></tr></tbody></table><br />First port of call is of course the 'Spoons. Well it's before twelve after all. "The Furness Railway" was the name. Six pints of various alcoholic drinks in a cool £14.01 round. Happy days! It appeared that Quino had been given a free pass from his missus as he quickly upped the pace. So much so that before midday we'd already sunk three pints. This was going to get messy real fast.<br /><br />Giving "The Derby" a swerve, as it was as dead as a nun's sex life, we head further up the high street. Quinno did try to tell us of a place called "The Nines" where you have to enter via the backdoor, naturally. But we couldn't find it. Instead it was the "Robin Hood" next (or "The place where that fella got picked up by the police and also had pictures of Kevin Costner on the wall" as it's known to the Firm). Few beers in and we're finally joined by Ozzie who was making a weekend of it up here apparently.<br /><br />Next on the list was "The Blue Lamp" but not before a few went into a place called 'Delish' that according to Mr X had a lovely Black Pudding Scotch Egg on sale. Even 4 Days commented positively on some form of Breakfast pastie/pie concoction that he wolfed down in seconds. Also, after last weeks winning streak, Crockett thought his luck was still in so he headed off to the bookies to put some money on a Super U's win.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iz2yvKR1sIE/W7zdej9ss_I/AAAAAAAAFxQ/qBFrxwmXkFAE_oYeBFgfvn2VcyYNnQPoQCEwYBhgL/s1600/WP_20181006_039.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="901" height="400" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iz2yvKR1sIE/W7zdej9ss_I/AAAAAAAAFxQ/qBFrxwmXkFAE_oYeBFgfvn2VcyYNnQPoQCEwYBhgL/s400/WP_20181006_039.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nooooooo...</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Inside the Lamp we were shocked to see that the famed £1.85 Estrella from a couple of seasons ago was strangely out of stock. Still, we soon forgot about it as we consumed several more pints of other stuff. In fact, according to my new social secretary, Beer number seven of the day was consumed in here. Talking to a few of the local supporters and their feelings were that it was going to be another draw. Walking towards the ground we received the news that our team was going to be a bit on the light side. It says it all when Worner is named as one of only four subs on the bench.<br /><br />And despite it being announced somewhere that it was going to be £18 on the door, the fella charges only £15. Not bad really considering that it's an open end. And segregation? Apparently so, except those home supporters in the stand were allowed to use our toilets. But that was to change around half time for one particular reason. Special shout out to 'Casual' as he was also present for another Northern trip.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-b6ldfNzpKFA/W7zdr41kczI/AAAAAAAAFwU/Nm9EQNk0GhgNM7VVXMja9GP4POdg6dYzgCEwYBhgL/s1600/WP_20181006_055.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="901" height="400" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-b6ldfNzpKFA/W7zdr41kczI/AAAAAAAAFwU/Nm9EQNk0GhgNM7VVXMja9GP4POdg6dYzgCEwYBhgL/s400/WP_20181006_055.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Casual-Style...</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><b><i>Butler, Bennett, Thomas, Clough, Davis, Lafayette, Ayunga, Brown, Beautyman, Wishart, Drinan. Bench Warmers: Bolarinwa, Cadogan, Lema, Worner.</i></b><br /><b><i><br /></i></b>On a hard pitch, and with swirly wind to deal with, it was the home team that started the stronger of the two. And it wasn't long before we were a goal down. Wow, 640+ Mile round trip to be losing inside three minutes. Fuckin' great! The goal itself was so simple. The fella received the ball down the left hand side. He cut in and took it away from Bennett and then left Davis for dead before curling the ball around Butler.<br /><br />Barrow continued with the pressure and Butler was called upon to palm over a shot that came from just outside the box. Sutton tried their best to work the ball but playing against the wind, but caused few problems for the defence.. Around this point a member of the party decided to go to toilet. Never to return.<br /><br />Shortly before half time and Sutton were trying to hold out as best they could. Obviously this was not going to happen. Failure to pick up players in the box was our fault here once again as a simple ball across the six yard line was met by an unmarked Barrow-man for an easy tap-in. Two-nil down and not looking like scoring once again it seemed. Roll on half-time please.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5apVDJZzsQQ/W7zd2uOatGI/AAAAAAAAFwU/RRQ8kSjnU7gmGGO7ivAaAM3xOYR88t6LwCEwYBhgL/s1600/WP_20181006_068.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5apVDJZzsQQ/W7zd2uOatGI/AAAAAAAAFwU/RRQ8kSjnU7gmGGO7ivAaAM3xOYR88t6LwCEwYBhgL/s400/WP_20181006_068.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Travelling faithful...</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Second half and Sutton came out with guns a-blazin'. It's not long before we're back in the game, or so we thought. A Drinan header comes off the bar and is bundled in by Clough I think. The keeper is on the floor after being shot, but there is no flag from the linesman and the ref doesn't seem interested by these antics. Then for some reason, only known to himself , he wanders over the to the side for a 'little chat'. Almost a couple of minutes later and the linesman flags for offside? Wait, Offside? Fucked if I know. And the keeper? Another Lazarus it seems.<br /><br />Subs are made and Sutton try to keep up the pressure. This time, it's another corner coming in that is met by Thomas at the far post. His first touch isn't the best, but with no marker, uses his second touch to head it past the keeper. GOAL! Wait...FUCK! That fuckin' linesman's flag is once again up for offside. And I'll say it again, Fucked if I know. Even Our Lord Dos isn't happy with that one and ends up in the stand before being given a yellow by the ref.<br /><br />With the match stretching out, both teams have chances and should've both got a goal each as poor shots came off the posts. Right at the death and Sutton got a <strike>life-line</strike> consolation. Thomas once again receives the ball and on his second touch forces it into the net. <b>2-1! </b>Unfortunately there isn't enough time as the ref blew his whistle shortly after. At which point the Barrow keeper shows his sportsmanship by remonstrating with the 52 away fans.&nbsp; How to antagonise the supporters in one easy step.&nbsp;There must've been something also unsavoury said to Bennett at the final whistle as he went Radio Rental at someone. He even took off his top and stood there in this bra going berserk. Fun times!<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vlJFwXFKwxc/W7zd8ibwoyI/AAAAAAAAFw8/b1pt5R8FG5M9lbi2WMToyZ1iasTNxZ7sgCEwYBhgL/s1600/WP_20181006_076.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vlJFwXFKwxc/W7zd8ibwoyI/AAAAAAAAFw8/b1pt5R8FG5M9lbi2WMToyZ1iasTNxZ7sgCEwYBhgL/s400/WP_20181006_076.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There's a Manfred Mann quote in there somewhere...</td></tr></tbody></table><br />After the match and it's goodbye to Barrow as we make a quick move for the 1720hrs train back to Lancaster Some of the boys managed to nab a lift with Ozzie, with the rest of the walking able had to pound the pavement back down Holker Street. Sending Dr Bell ahead to buy some "light" refreshments, he failed miserably and it's down to Quinno to do the duty and save the day. Watch and learn old fella!<br /><br />The train is already on the platform and we all take a pew as we wait for everyone to arrive. Well apart from Indy &amp; Sean Connery's Stuntman who were completely forgotten about until half way to Lancaster. Fortunately, after a phone call from Mr X they appeared to have made the only train out of Barrow. With Bob &amp; Cath also, the classic "how much stuff can you stick on top of someone who is asleep" (Crockett, who'd finally emerged from his hour long toilet visit) kept most of us entertained on the journey.<br /><br />Arriving in Lancaster and we head straight for the closest pub to the station "The Merchants". It's one that we've all been to before and as the boys are waiting to be served, Me &amp; Dirty Barry head upstairs to 'siphon the python'. Minutes later, and we're back downstairs at the bar. Not being part of the round, Dirty Barry sidesteps the group in order to get to the bar.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YHl2cr0y07g/W7zdgtFtvtI/AAAAAAAAFxI/74GO-y0cTCYPj5BH4nGgoMu-_HhIKHU3gCEwYBhgL/s1600/WP_20181006_042.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="901" height="400" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YHl2cr0y07g/W7zdgtFtvtI/AAAAAAAAFxI/74GO-y0cTCYPj5BH4nGgoMu-_HhIKHU3gCEwYBhgL/s400/WP_20181006_042.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ha! Ha! Wellie...</td></tr></tbody></table><br />But just as he asks the barmaid for a beer, she comments "I'm not going to serve you as it's clear some members of your group have clearly had too much already". I wonder who she was to referring to? Ok, one of us was definitely very loud (but he's now practically a local) and another was about to pass out once again, but the rest of us were fine! Surely not madam! Still, being the gentlemen we are, we don't go causing any scenes and we move onto pastures new.<br /><br />Except 4 Days that is, who'd already somehow been served! With only time for a couple of pints before we headed back South, we discuss our options for food. Someone eventually finds a pizza place round the corner and Mr X offers to head off in order to sort out some stodge. £10 for a chicken &amp; mushroom pizza it seems. Around this point, Quinno decides that enough is enough for today and stumbles off into the night. Nice to see you again fella. Despite being a fuckin' jinx!<br /><br />We walk back to the station, after waking up someone who'd passed out again in the pub and we locate our train. And surprise surprise we also have a table again! Which is fuckin' handy for the food. So settled down with a few cans of driving beer (Foster's) and it's time to consume our food with exceptional pace. A simple enough journey is disrupted by the arrival of a good few Wigan supporters who'd seen their team take a royal spanking at the hands of local rivals Preston.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3_mz8zFk_8g/W7zePIqNZoI/AAAAAAAAFxU/rwQj6Yj0JoknABVG2NtrkqFXZWkXPRfPACEwYBhgL/s1600/WP_20181006_104.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3_mz8zFk_8g/W7zePIqNZoI/AAAAAAAAFxU/rwQj6Yj0JoknABVG2NtrkqFXZWkXPRfPACEwYBhgL/s400/WP_20181006_104.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Not tonight lads..."</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Trying to be a bit tidy, I stacked all the pizza boxes up in front of me on the table, when a random fella approached us and comments on the amount of boxes on the table. "Sorry fella, they're all empty" replied Mr X, followed by "He sounds rather European". Personally I thought he spoke with more of a fuckin' South African twang myself, but there you go.<br /><br />Next thing we know is this fella has returned to show his dismay about being accused of being European. You not South African then mate? We apologise and he wanders back off down the carriage. Mr X is not having any of this though, and seeks this fella out further down the line. A while later he returns with this chap now in tow. New friend then? And using the age honour tradition of sorting out any mild misunderstanding. He hands him a now warm beer.<br /><br />Turns out his name is Jakub. Or Jacob. Or something. And he is indeed <strike>South African</strike> Polish. So Mr X was totally right then. For once. The rest of the journey is then filled with various shit. Like the fact he was returning from seeing his mum, who lives in bloody Airdrie! And that he had a Spanish bird. And I doubt it'll ever be topped, but to see him and Dr Bell argue over the future of Strawberry pickers post-Brexit after fifteen beers was something else. Oh, and he thought Dirty Barry was his lover and Crockett was his son! Come to think of it, I think he may have also been drinking beforehand as well.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CiPy4_fvfqs/W7zeZ4xcIKI/AAAAAAAAFw8/TzR6UeRjLqY0gOrDeM79E7_rCm2bVaFHwCEwYBhgL/s1600/WP_20181006_117.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="901" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CiPy4_fvfqs/W7zeZ4xcIKI/AAAAAAAAFw8/TzR6UeRjLqY0gOrDeM79E7_rCm2bVaFHwCEwYBhgL/s400/WP_20181006_117.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Insert cock joke</td></tr></tbody></table><br />The whole night became even more surreal when he put some music on his phone. Not some sort of modern euro-techno babble bullshit, but Kate Bush. Yeah, Kate bloody Bush. 'Wuthering Heights' no less. Only made funny as we tried to work out how to say 'Dirty Barry' in Polish. "We have many words for dirty in my country.." was how that all started. Can't remember now what the Polish actually was for 'Dirty Barry' though. You're welcome.<br /><br />And yet, all I could think of at that point was, Gandermonium in-joke here, "Why do they call him Dirty Barry? Doesn't he wash? I don't like people who don't wash". Arriving back in Euston and it was time to say goodbye to our mate Jakub/Jacob (think he lived in Limehouse somewhere) and head on towards the tube to Victoria and a train back home. It's back to the Badlands for me personally as I have an important engagement to attend to.<br /><br />So that's the warm up done. A cheap day if you forget about the £67 on train fares. Next week. it's another excursion into a another countrie's local cup competition. Against a bleedin' another different countries team no less. And judging by the weather, there might be a few squeaky bums around, both for the trip over and the game itself. But needless to say that Gandemonium will find a way. Enjoy!<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-QUe4Wh-ryBI/W7zef_JxQ0I/AAAAAAAAFxU/IYZaqIm0uzokRRBzF11uzKN3xEcBpMPCgCEwYBhgL/s1600/WP_20181006_125.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-QUe4Wh-ryBI/W7zef_JxQ0I/AAAAAAAAFxU/IYZaqIm0uzokRRBzF11uzKN3xEcBpMPCgCEwYBhgL/s400/WP_20181006_125.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Back at Euston...</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Duke<br />Att. 1,203<br /><br />Dukehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15782806444120070028noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9211878954912175436.post-10241255942752101652018-10-02T22:44:00.002+01:002018-10-06T15:23:29.952+01:00Mitcham Stadium MysteriesI love old stuff.&nbsp; You know that. I also love a bit of local history and have always been fascinated by long-lost sporting venues so when all that comes together into something extraordinary just a few short miles the other side of Rose Hill I’m going to be salivating like Dirty Barry in Bentall’s lingerie department.<br /><br /><a name='more'></a>This one-off Gandermonium blog post started after I pinged up a snap of the Sutton fans larging it up in the Orient East Stand during Saturdays epic victory and casually mentioned that it had been lifted back in the fifties from South West London and shipped girder by girder way out East. Some just assumed I had overdone the stout in The Technical before the match and was spouting off random bollocks – hence why I thought it necessary to sit down and knock out this bit of historical reportage.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NMqUkb3x4Ac/W7Pjzc16kKI/AAAAAAAAGC8/CtuWU2Co-7oM0qvtt_A2ml5Q9mocS3VhgCLcBGAs/s1600/Orientr.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NMqUkb3x4Ac/W7Pjzc16kKI/AAAAAAAAGC8/CtuWU2Co-7oM0qvtt_A2ml5Q9mocS3VhgCLcBGAs/s400/Orientr.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Us in the 'stolen' stand on Saturday</td></tr></tbody></table><br />The story of Mitcham Stadium begins with an entrepreneur called Sydney Parkes.&nbsp; Parkes, a housing developer, believed that there was a market for professional Rugby League in London and decided to prove it by building a whacking great stadium opposite Tooting and Mitcham’s then Sandy Lane ground at a cost of sixty grand – loads of dough in those days. His plans fitted in with the fast growth of the south London suburban sprawl around this time, it was all those new streets of semi-detached houses built by speculators like Parkes that provided the pound notes to finance his lofty sporting ambitions.<br /><br />When it came to the Mitcham Stadium development this really was “build it and they will come” on a hell of a scale. Estimates of the grounds capacity vary from 30,000 to a frankly hard to believe 60,000 but we can guess it was somewhere in between. The early picture with the ground from the air doesn’t show the big banks of terracing that were added at each end later.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2VVqDGL0DrM/W7Pjx4mc4PI/AAAAAAAAGDI/bC6jr36jj-gMjIp3kbtMX634dzQc5qv4gCEwYBhgL/s1600/Aerial.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="398" data-original-width="664" height="238" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2VVqDGL0DrM/W7Pjx4mc4PI/AAAAAAAAGDI/bC6jr36jj-gMjIp3kbtMX634dzQc5qv4gCEwYBhgL/s400/Aerial.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mitcham Stadium from the air. Orient's stand to the left.<br />Tooting &amp; Mitcham's old Sandy Lane at the top</td></tr></tbody></table>But it turns out Parkes wasn’t far off the money. Streatham and Mitcham Rugby League club moved in to the newly completed stadium for the 1935 season and they were soon turning out against the likes of Rochdale Hornets – with their celebrity fan and top entertainer of the day Gracie Fields showing up to add some glamour - and Hull Kingston Rovers and the club clocked up a record home attendance of over 24,000 for their first game against Oldham in September 1935 and they went on to average over 15,000 for their opening five games – more than nearby Crystal Palace FC!<br /><br />In an audacious move Parkes had signed George Nepia, an All Black and one of the finest rugby players of his generation, and installed him as player manager alongside another rugby legend of that era Charlie Smith. Parkes was so pleased with his marquee signing that he demanded 25% of the gate from away games to guarantee that Nepia would play. And his quest for his pound of flesh didn’t stop there. Chasing his bangs for the buck Parkes also set up Streatham and Mitcham Giants baseball team in the summer of 1936 and got Nepia, and presumably some of the other Rugby League lads, to play for them in the close season.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KM9-fmrog18/W7jC4F8PbjI/AAAAAAAAE0o/FqEe1mW9IJM6CDJav7N3TNiKmXaevGsIgCEwYBhgL/s1600/George%2BNepia.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="212" data-original-width="400" height="211" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KM9-fmrog18/W7jC4F8PbjI/AAAAAAAAE0o/FqEe1mW9IJM6CDJav7N3TNiKmXaevGsIgCEwYBhgL/s400/George%2BNepia.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">George Nepia. The All Blacks RL Legend who played in Mitcham</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />Predictably it was a disaster and the Giants played just five games, lost all five, including a hammering from West Ham who were associated with the football club, and promptly folded. Inter-war, and afterwards for a while as well, there was a serious attempt to get baseball established as a rival summer game to cricket in England. Luckily for us, but not for Parkes and some of his associates who chucked money at the game, the plans failed.<br /><br />But Parkes wasn’t all about the Rugby League – he had a finger in the Greyhound Racing pie as well and in 1936 he put down a track and opened up Mitcham Stadium for the dogs. With competition from nearby Wimbledon (more on that later) the project fell on its arse and within a year the dogs were gone. And the Rugby League wasn’t going much better either and into their second season Streatham and Mitcham collapsed without fulfilling their fixtures – despite doing reasonably well on the pitch the crowds had tailed off and the costs of running a pro side playing away fixtures up north did for them. Competition for punters during the tough economic times of the thirties from other sports was also thought to be a decisive factor.&nbsp;Nepia and Smith were both sold off to Northern clubs in an attempt to offset the substantial losses.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rUMMDgKykpQ/W7jC31GfGFI/AAAAAAAAE0o/LTPyZr3gYxQRIxbvvo1vCSl0AxOVtr-bQCEwYBhgL/s1600/Baseball.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1085" height="400" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rUMMDgKykpQ/W7jC31GfGFI/AAAAAAAAE0o/LTPyZr3gYxQRIxbvvo1vCSl0AxOVtr-bQCEwYBhgL/s400/Baseball.png" width="271" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mitcham's short lived pro Baseball team!</td></tr></tbody></table><br />But it turns out Parks empire also extended to ownership of London’s other Rugby League club at the time, Acton and Willesden, who went pop even quicker that Streatham and Mitcham nailing his grand plan to establish six teams within the London as a step to creating a whole Southern division. London wouldn’t see a pro league team again until the 1980’s when Fulham got in on the act. Parkes, flush from building loads of the suburban sprawl of houses around Motspur Park, Worcester Park and New Malden, also owned the long-gone Wandsworth Stadium and was reported as being the biggest owner of sporting real estate in Europe.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>However, this wasn’t to be the end of Mitcham Stadium quite yet, it’s reported that Parkes was close to securing a deal with Clapton Orient to move in but their directors threw out the plan in 1937. There was also a similar approach to Fulham. In March 1938 The London Evening News reported that the then Fulham owner, John Dean, confirmed that he was considering an offer to buy Craven Cottage – presumably for housing. Parkes was quick out the blocks and told reporters that he had “telephonic communication with Mr Dean on the matter.” The paper also confirmed that the Mitcham Stadium held 60,000 and suggested that there were other possible suitors.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E51PjkTSvPA/W7PjzZxhfOI/AAAAAAAAGDI/ag9YWSCRoEQDyDQxH2LSltcqqPIgGSpHwCEwYBhgL/s1600/Stand.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="756" data-original-width="1200" height="251" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E51PjkTSvPA/W7PjzZxhfOI/AAAAAAAAGDI/ag9YWSCRoEQDyDQxH2LSltcqqPIgGSpHwCEwYBhgL/s400/Stand.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stand that went to Bedford</td></tr></tbody></table><br />None of these possible tenants came to anything and as war loomed the stadium looked more than a bit bolloxed . I would love to know what the stadium was used for during the war years – hard to believe it wouldn’t have fulfilled some military function. I need to dig into that. After the war, and with the boom in spectator sports, Parkes had another spin of the wheel and tried to get a licence for speedway but Wimbledon were having none of that, being only a short bus ride away and in 1947 that plan was knocked back sharpish.<br /><br />Never apparently daunted, Parkes then turned his attention to South West London’s large and growing Irish community and brought in both hurling and Gaelic football. The GAA hosted exhibition matches featuring county champions and All-Ireland finalists bringing in crowds of up to 30,000 people but the GAA had eyes on a bigger prize and in the mid-fifties shifted these money-spinners to the much larger Wembley stadium dealing Mitcham yet another fatal blow. Reports from the time showed that many in the GAA orbit were furious as Mitcham was by now woven into the fabric of the south London Irish community and was regarded by travelling teams as one of their favourite venues.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WuicuSFsMQI/W7jD09hFFoI/AAAAAAAAE04/HFeB-8YJ1k0fmeFu8wej721LJCbKWRqnwCEwYBhgL/s1600/Hurling.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1155" data-original-width="1516" height="303" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WuicuSFsMQI/W7jD09hFFoI/AAAAAAAAE04/HFeB-8YJ1k0fmeFu8wej721LJCbKWRqnwCEwYBhgL/s400/Hurling.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hurling action</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />Parkes had one final go at football, offering Croydon Rovers the chance to use his impressive facilities and they played one Metropolitan League season there in 1950/51. The Bantams only existed for one year and actually had a successful first season, finishing third and for a while topping the league and giving it the big one that they were about to be propelled on through the Southern League and into the old Third Division South. The Rovers also played Kidderminster in a friendly at Mitcham Stadum in a very early live televised game – how extraordinary is that fact alone? In December 1950 Croydon Rovers applied to the Surrey FA for a name change to Mitcham and Croydon Rovers to broaden their appeal to the local population – safe to assume that the proposal was knocked back and I guess that Mitcham Wanderers, who had merged with Tooting and played across the road at Sandy Lane, would have kicked up a stink for sure.<br /><br />At the same time as the name change was being considered Croydon Rovers had also made an audacious bid to sign Alan Brown, a Scottish International and East Fife star, as player manager but there was clearly some shenanigans going on with the Dundee Telegraph reporting that Croydon “had representatives at the main London road and rail terminals hoping the player would arrive.” He never did. A month earlier Croydon Rovers had offered Bobby Ancell of Dundee United the same position but it appears that he declined as well.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ju8cONNV9OY/W7jC33b3GzI/AAAAAAAAE0s/Zw84oe7omS4c932Q__YYCp7f63o7ESWdgCEwYBhgL/s1600/Croydon%2BRovers.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1398" data-original-width="1088" height="400" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ju8cONNV9OY/W7jC33b3GzI/AAAAAAAAE0s/Zw84oe7omS4c932Q__YYCp7f63o7ESWdgCEwYBhgL/s400/Croydon%2BRovers.png" width="311" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One season wonders, Croydon Rovers</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />How and why Croydon Rovers folded after just one relatively successful season remains a mystery but if they were trying to sign established international pros to play at Metropolitan League level it suggests that they were early fore-runners of the Billy Big Bollocks/ buying success nonsense that has cooked the goose of so many non-league sides in the many years since.<br /><br />Among the final references I can find to the stadium before it closed in 1955 is the hosting of Coronation celebrations in 1953 and I believe it was regularly used for local Mitcham civic and school sports events.&nbsp; There was a huge co-operative festival at the ground shortly before it shut its doors for good and it seems that the co-operative movement used it as a regular venue for gala events. The picture of the Coronation celebrations gives an idea of the scale of the stadium.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HPt_wJMlExg/W7jC3TLCvtI/AAAAAAAAE0s/FkZPyqP7Pw0l3TF8tOC2vMPzJeYgv2a3wCEwYBhgL/s1600/Fulham.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1063" data-original-width="1033" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HPt_wJMlExg/W7jC3TLCvtI/AAAAAAAAE0s/FkZPyqP7Pw0l3TF8tOC2vMPzJeYgv2a3wCEwYBhgL/s400/Fulham.png" width="387" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fulham in Mitcham?</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />Oh yes, I almost forgot, Mitcham Stadium also briefly hosted athletics and, proving that there was no new game or gimmick that Parkes wouldn’t embrace if he thought it might turn a shilling, he also had a dabble with the short-lived sport of bicycle polo!<br /><br />But just two decades after this leviathan arose out of the Mitcham mud it was done. On closing the two covered stands were sold off, one to then Southern League big boys Bedford Town and the other shipped off to Orient, which is where we started this tale. There must have been turnstiles up for grabs as well, did one or two of them find their way into the vintage collection that graces nearby Gander Green Lane? Has to be possible as no one seems to know the provinence of our random but beautiful battery of units.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qA93Hz8pcak/W7PjzGCdjCI/AAAAAAAAGDA/5UuBmFmiIYQvREOV3HmrmqQezDIab22sACEwYBhgL/s1600/Show.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1184" data-original-width="1600" height="295" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qA93Hz8pcak/W7PjzGCdjCI/AAAAAAAAGDA/5UuBmFmiIYQvREOV3HmrmqQezDIab22sACEwYBhgL/s400/Show.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Coronation Celebrations @ Mitcham Stadium</td></tr></tbody></table><br />But just think about what might have been?&nbsp; Say Fulham had moved in or say Parkes had been able to mould one of his other projects (Croydon Rovers?) into lasting contenders? We could have had a Premier League football outfit right on our doorstep. One final note, I’m told that you can still see a part of the original foundations in either Ormerod Gardens or Fowley Road where the new housing was built over the stadium in the 1960’s. I’m going down to take a butchers at that.<br /><br />Totts<br /><br /><br /><i>With huge thanks to <b><a href="https://twitter.com/Groundtastic" target="_blank">@groundtastic</a></b>, the brilliant <a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B005348HY4/ref=dp-kindle-redirect?_encoding=UTF8&amp;btkr=1" target="_blank">"Rugby Leagues Lost Heartland"</a>,&nbsp;LB Merton’s archive, the British Library, the GAA, the GRA and my fellow history enthusiast Michael Walker.</i><br /><br />Gander Moniumhttps://plus.google.com/100970888492967679847noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9211878954912175436.post-66734202451601716222018-10-01T22:24:00.002+01:002018-10-02T22:45:54.010+01:00Salty ProteinIt's fair to say the recent form of Sutton United FC has been a little up and down. A 4-0 Tuesday night <b><a href="http://www.gandermonium.com/2018/09/red-light-spells-danger.html" target="_blank">humping by Boredom Wood</a></b>, a 3-0 win over <b><a href="http://www.gandermonium.com/2018/09/more-rabbit-than-sainsburys.html" target="_blank">Wrexham</a></b> and then a 2-2 draw against 10 man bottom side <b><a href="http://www.gandermonium.com/2018/09/cannibalism-or-herbalism.html" target="_blank">Dover</a></b> having been 2-0 up early on is the sort of run that has your average fan scratching their heads and making their brain ache trying to work out what it all means. Not us, oh no. We've long since given up with that old lark and simply go to the bar and order another round. The only thing that makes our brain ache is beer. And maybe a touch of early onset Alzheimer's.<br /><br /><a name='more'></a>The other affect of this is that when people ask in passing conversation "How do you reckon you'll get on this weekend?", you can do no more than shrug your Noddy Holders and offer "Fucked if I know!" as a response. Take this weeks trundle out to East London to meet the mighty Orient for example. On the one hand they're top of the table, are the only unbeaten side remaining in the division and saw off their own struggling oppo midweek 5-1, but on the other, we love a big scalp and usually turn up more often than not for the bigger opponents. So we could as easily battle out a narrow win as get handed our arses in this one. Still, at least it's never dull. Anyway, if we're going to put some thought into this, despite of course saying we never do that just barely a paragraph back, we did come here <b><a href="http://www.gandermonium.com/2017/12/rumblings-in-newington-butts.html" target="_blank">last season top and got turned over</a></b>, so given that they're top going into this one, we could argue it's our turn to enjoy the 3 points today.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-kmdwdgMPrqA/W7KMRLFa7cI/AAAAAAAAEyU/t6Gu4z8diYUcGfRL4dcEpIze0o0ALqm1gCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20180929_123840.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-kmdwdgMPrqA/W7KMRLFa7cI/AAAAAAAAEyU/t6Gu4z8diYUcGfRL4dcEpIze0o0ALqm1gCK4BGAYYCw/s400/20180929_123840.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Old boozer</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7opWCG-UoBM/W7KMRdYpm4I/AAAAAAAAEyc/JZZBHDWJY9ATGyl-9WEL1Lzt5auoyPJfQCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20180929_123914.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7opWCG-UoBM/W7KMRdYpm4I/AAAAAAAAEyc/JZZBHDWJY9ATGyl-9WEL1Lzt5auoyPJfQCK4BGAYYCw/s400/20180929_123914.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Corridor</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />Having slaved away at work this week, I was quite pleased to have a relatively short trip to make today and it meant I could first enjoy a couple of pints post-place of employ on Friday night and also occupy Bedfordshire until the delightfully late hour of almost 9am on the Saturday morning. Having risen from the dead and whilst undertaking the usual morning rituals of a shower and a poo, I receive a text message from Clive on the B-Team Crew "Seen who's reffing today?". Of course I haven't as I try not to think about National League officials outside of questioning their parentage over the allotted 90 minutes plus stoppages of a match of Association Football as to do so invites only madness. But still, I suppose I'd better reply. It's only polite. I know, I 'll go with something light and snappy.<br /><br />"Nope. Some cunt though no doubt".<br /><br />Seems I'm not that far off the mark as it goes as today we're once more being graced with the presence of Carl Brook, the fuckwit who ruined the game at Aldershot a couple of weeks back with that moody red card for JC and numerous other baffling yellows for some of the other lads whilst the oppo largely got fuck all in response. Oh joy. Putting this out of my mind, I get my arse into gear and head out for the station, where I soon discover I've once again misjudged the weather. Assuming it was going to be a bit nippy out, I've gone full 'wrap up warm' and it's therefore not long before I'm sweating like Brett Kavanaugh in front of a Senate Committee hearing. Thankfully though, halfway to my destination a bus appears and I hop on for the last leg into the Badlands to save me getting any stickier before I've even left my home borough. It also aids in dodging agents of the state who'd like nothing better than to capture an agent of the PROWS foremost <strike>propaganda</strike> free speech outlet.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-D-O3spp0u2w/W7KMczp9psI/AAAAAAAAEyk/s8TP9ovwW3YaI1orNZqsnryO0VrD1ypxACK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20180929_140427.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-D-O3spp0u2w/W7KMczp9psI/AAAAAAAAEyk/s8TP9ovwW3YaI1orNZqsnryO0VrD1ypxACK4BGAYYCw/s400/20180929_140427.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We're here!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wicVj2yg0kQ/W7KMeFaYMjI/AAAAAAAAEys/w9laJx5BuQQoC5FosVBVDE1pmEbDhP_TwCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20180929_141743.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wicVj2yg0kQ/W7KMeFaYMjI/AAAAAAAAEys/w9laJx5BuQQoC5FosVBVDE1pmEbDhP_TwCK4BGAYYCw/s400/20180929_141743.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Soil pipe</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />Finally arriving at Carshalton station, I find Dukey just having bought his travel card and helping some old duffer behind him use the machine before we head for the platform. He too it seems has misjudged the weather and expected a chilly late September day rather than the bright Autumn sunshine we actually have. "Fuckin' hell I'm hot" he moans. The train somewhat surprisingly arrives on time and we board, but there's no sign of Dr Bell, who it seems was due to get this train as well this morning. Applying the logic of the needs of the many outweigh those of the few (hey, there's 2 of us and 1 of him. Democracy innit!), we take a seat. If he's aboard, he can come and find us!<br /><br />As we head into town, we amuse ourselves with different small talk and other bollocks, which mainly involves discussing the 1985 Arnold Schwarzenegger masterpiece 'Commando' that was on Film 4 the previous evening. Then as we reach Streatham we discover via the top secret, members only, VIP Gandermonium whatsapp thingy that Dr Bell is indeed aboard our service, along with 4 Days and Mr X. But having made ourselves comfortable, we elect not to go in search of them. I also take the opportunity to remind Mr X that for some strange reason, I have his programme from the Scotland Belgium game he'd attended on the Airdrie weekender in my bag. I've no idea how or why it's come into my possession, but I'd like him to reclaim it as the stench of failure seeping from it's glossy pages is starting to make me feel a little queasy.<br /><br />On the platform at Farringdon, we quickly locate the others and head up into the sunshine for the short hop to the Spoons on the corner and having pulled some readies from the ATM, we're soon at the bar ordering refreshments. Already here and polishing off large breakfasts are Crockett and Pete the Perv. As we catch up over pints, we hear of a couple of late fallers from the rest of the firm. It seems Rax has been lumbered with child birthday party escort duties at the last minute and Magnum PI has had a rather rough morning as some ne'er do well he was tracking down hasn't taken well to being served his papers and has got a little physical! He's ok, but it seems he'll be somewhat busy dealing with the old bill for a while, no doubt because he's used his PI licensed-to-kill ninja skills to properly fuck up his assailant. I bet that involves a <i>lot</i> of paperwork...<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cUhVzU1RFNQ/W7KMn7wu9JI/AAAAAAAAEy4/6lQnYjmmwkAQ1z5DvAO2MfPHC1MDos6IACK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20180929_143950.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cUhVzU1RFNQ/W7KMn7wu9JI/AAAAAAAAEy4/6lQnYjmmwkAQ1z5DvAO2MfPHC1MDos6IACK4BGAYYCw/s400/20180929_143950.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Walking down whatever road this is...</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-IfLYmXedB7Y/W7KMp_srVVI/AAAAAAAAEzA/wMonEp1vgukqGsKl-j3xW98hC3sCvC1VgCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20180929_144743.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-IfLYmXedB7Y/W7KMp_srVVI/AAAAAAAAEzA/wMonEp1vgukqGsKl-j3xW98hC3sCvC1VgCK4BGAYYCw/s400/20180929_144743.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Shit league with Sutton, you're in a shit league with Sutton...."</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />After a couple of beers at the spoons, we head down towards Chancery Lane so as to get on the Central Line for Leyton. But before we do, we hit up the Cittie of Yorke, a Sam Smiths boozer for some cheaper-than-spoons beverages. Amazingly, despite it's relative proximity to where I work, it's the first time I've been in this old pub and it's an impressive space. As we partake in a couple more pints in these exclusive surroundings, Crockett is crowing about his big weekend bet he's got on the go, a double on Hertha Berlin to beat Bayern (which they did Friday night, 2-0) and West Ham to do Man Utd in today's early KO. And it's going well as the Hammers are two goals to the good already. If it stays that way, it'll drop 350 bar into his bin. With a quick pop into Greggs to sort some nosebag, we hop onto the tube and rattle our way eastwards to Leyton and a couple of quick Pre-match liveners in the Technical on the high road. The best thing is, this has been designated as the 'away' pub by the local plod, which we think is a first for us on the road. It's a decent boozer with a good beer selection, so it suits us perfectly.<br /><br />Further refreshed, it's time to head for Brisbane Road. At the turnstiles, there's the usual security and bag checks you'd expect from the bigger clubs, but it's the big Shoebox flag causing the most concern. "It's big!" I warn the lady steward as she starts yanking it out of the bag "How big exactly?" she enquires. "Erm, about 18 feet across if I remember correctly". She stops pulling and looks at me. "Are you having a laugh?". Nope! A head steward is called in over the radio and a moment later he's on scene. Thankfully, he's the same geezer I'd dealt with last season and thankfully it seems he remembers us. A quick chat later and and an agreement that we'll bang it up at the back of the stand out of the way and I've handed in my ticket and we're up into the seats. There's a decent following assembling again from South West London and with the flag up, we settle in for the off. But not before Totts has reminded me the stand we're in was <b><a href="https://twitter.com/bornatotter/status/1046163162788253696" target="_blank">'nicked' from Mitcham</a></b>. Something pinched <i>from </i>Mitcham? That makes a change.<br /><br /><b><i>Butler, Bennett, Thomas, Beckwith, Clough, Davis, Ayunga, Eastmond, Bailey, Wright, Drinan. SUBS: Bolawinra, Lafayette, Brown, Beautyman, Wishart.</i></b><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-AOfB9WANCY8/W7KMyuHE1fI/AAAAAAAAEzI/1BJ27A7mfb0FgZpjsQQOTEX8Xb65Im7HACK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20180929_144752.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-AOfB9WANCY8/W7KMyuHE1fI/AAAAAAAAEzI/1BJ27A7mfb0FgZpjsQQOTEX8Xb65Im7HACK4BGAYYCw/s400/20180929_144752.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">People</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mZH_J1X0ALw/W7KMzuD_UVI/AAAAAAAAEzQ/ofqwrrm8PSAdC2iTgvDdHs2QUEgJSK17QCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20180929_155332.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mZH_J1X0ALw/W7KMzuD_UVI/AAAAAAAAEzQ/ofqwrrm8PSAdC2iTgvDdHs2QUEgJSK17QCK4BGAYYCw/s400/20180929_155332.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Packed concourse</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />Despite Orient's strong start to the season, the opening exchanges give no real indication of why. Whilst they do look more competent than last season, they're not quite as at it as we'd have expected for a home side defending a club record unbeaten run. Both sides play it cagey and this means that neither really creates much of note. In fact, the first couple of moments come quite close together, with the U's putting a free-kick wide from Kenny Davis after Ayunga was somewhat crudely stopped in his tracks on the 18 yard box and the hosts respond almost immediately with a header from a corner that Aswad not only blocks on the line, but manages to also clear it over the bar too boot! After this, there's not much to write home about really, as both sides make inroads into the oppo half, but just lack that final ball to cause either keeper any concern. The main bit of fun comes from the yoof coming up with a new song about Nicky Bailey and a magic hat, that and letting Mr Brook know what our feelings are on him and his abilities. Of course, we've picked up a couple of yellows for next to fuck all, with the oppo largely ignored for doing the same stuff.<br /><br />At the break, with everyone else heading down to the concourse for a bottle of overpriced lager, I decide to join them so U]I'm not billy no mates left in the stand staring at this phone. Down here, the yoot are enjoying a few more choruses of the Nicky Bailey Magic Hat song and everyone's having a drink and wondering what the 2nd half holds. Delightfully, I manage to ponce a half time cider off Sleepy Joe. It seems my big hearted charitable donation of a pint to him after the Boreham Wood game intended for Mr X who'd instead sloped off home to sulk is paying dividends. Thank you sir!<br /><br />The second 45 however, kicks off with a bit of bang. An Orient attack breaks down in our half and a quick switch of the play finds Ayunga out wide, down in front of us. He advances, cuts inside the fullback and from 20 yards, has a pop. I'll be honest, the keeper doesn't exactly cover himself in glory at this point as he goes down like a sack of spuds and the ball squeezes in at his near post. It's such a surprise, that a lot of us take a moment to register it's actually in the back of the onion bag and we're in front. Go mental? Go mental.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1DEzXNLLIu8/W7KM1oQYy4I/AAAAAAAAEzY/_fZ7a0QcwcgEKI-OBRB0ctgj3izs8E-fACK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20180929_160232.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1DEzXNLLIu8/W7KM1oQYy4I/AAAAAAAAEzY/_fZ7a0QcwcgEKI-OBRB0ctgj3izs8E-fACK4BGAYYCw/s400/20180929_160232.jpg" width="193" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Another corridor</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6RrxU5bmHak/W7KM2nmoNBI/AAAAAAAAEzg/SUx-xpQNsYItUNw0aS7iy4iQ1lCfYLLHQCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20180929_165716.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6RrxU5bmHak/W7KM2nmoNBI/AAAAAAAAEzg/SUx-xpQNsYItUNw0aS7iy4iQ1lCfYLLHQCK4BGAYYCw/s400/20180929_165716.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Celebrations</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />With a goal to give us something to hold onto, we now start Non-Leaguing the shit out of these Football League wannabe's. That means we employ a little game management and wind the clock down. Of course, the locals fucking love a bit of this. Having said this, their team don't really do a great deal to take the game to us either and the main challenge we face is that fucking bent arsehole reffing the contest. As the half wears on, Brook seems to be on a mission to award yellows to Sutton players for as pointless offences as he can, whilst the hosts remain completely un-cautioned despite a number of fouls that quite frankly are easily as serious as anything we manage to muster. The worst one though sees the end of Tommy Wright's afternoon. Chasing a ball over the top, he gets goal side of the defender and has time it right to be on the run of the ball, but before he can take it in his stride, he gets an obvious two handed shove in the back which causes him to fall awkwardly. Nothing doing. No free kick nothing. Cunto the clown then really rubs our noses in it by telling Tommy to get up and leave the field rather than receive treatment from Bobby where he sits. You're an absolute fucking prick mate. I hope someone shat in your shoes.<br /><br />Changes are made by both sides, the absurd yellow card count mounts and as we go into the last few mins, we start to tire a little after putting in a solid shift. This coupled with our usual "We're winning 1-0 so lets drop practically back to our own goal line to really put the shits up our support" tactic means the home side finally start to look more threatening. We do deal with most of it fairly comfortably until pretty much the 90th minute when a bloke is given too much room 18 yards out and clips a shot off Butler's crossbar. Then after 5 minutes of added time, even Brook gets bored and blows the final whistle. Unbeaten run kyboshed, 3 points in the bag, job. fucking. done. Right, can we pack up and get drunk now please?<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-alNFGjUHI3M/W7KM8tKeYpI/AAAAAAAAEzo/56f12wzRyrgUHPSBQNJ5goIgudaFNAF-QCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20180929_172817.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-alNFGjUHI3M/W7KM8tKeYpI/AAAAAAAAEzo/56f12wzRyrgUHPSBQNJ5goIgudaFNAF-QCK4BGAYYCw/s400/20180929_172817.jpg" width="193" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We know Barry, we know...</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lafl4n50H0M/W7KM9sqla-I/AAAAAAAAEzw/O9BuLRO0Nhoh_s8YLLgW0cw4QjpBzC3AQCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20180929_181433.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lafl4n50H0M/W7KM9sqla-I/AAAAAAAAEzw/O9BuLRO0Nhoh_s8YLLgW0cw4QjpBzC3AQCK4BGAYYCw/s400/20180929_181433.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Vandalism</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />With the lads applauded from the pitch, we grab our goods and chattels and hit the pavement back to the Technical for a couple of celebratory scoops. Along the way, a couple of locals make loud &amp; obviously-aimed-at-us "Pub team" comments that has I and 4 Days chuckling. Well gents, if you don't want to play pub teams, then don't be shit and wind up in a pub league maybe? Just a fucking idea. To be honest, there's a few sound O's around as well, including one old boy who slips between I and the Welshman for a chat on the way back to the pub who felt they maybe needed the kick up the arse to remind them of the job at hand. Getting out of the National and not having to play pub sides like us! Fair play. Back in the boozer, it's mainly away fans again and we get stuck into the pints, some more than others as Dukey has a proper moment pouring his first bottle of fizzy cider into his pint glass, managing to dump a load of it all down my side. In retaliation I use his trademark flat cap to dry myself off, it's only fair. Once done, I make a quick check to make sure he wasn't having a stroke or anything. All clear, back to the beer.<br /><br />We while away some time here over a couple of pints and there's a bit of boisterous singing. Crockett also keeps trying to get the Nicky Bailey song going, but his efforts are hampered by the fact he only actually knows the first line of the fucking thing. So he kicks off, then bails out leaving others to do the heavy lifting. Still, at least he gets a round in from his days gambling monies before he sods off to meet his missus for a night out in Reigate. We also meet Derby fan Sean who's come along for the day with his missus. <a href="https://twitter.com/DavidPantsman7/status/1046080816760193026" target="_blank"><b>On their anniversary!</b></a> Who said romance was dead eh? Take notes Dukey!<br /><br />After some beers, we decide to get back into town and for some reason decide to alight at Bank, you know, the bit in the City of London where pretty much all the pubs are closed at weekends. So we end up in the Cross Keys spoons and get stuck into a few more pints to while away the time until Steve rejoins us after a magical day out at Wolves where Southampton have fallen to a 2-0 defeat. Naturally, he's delighted with this outcome. Naturally, being in a beer desert, the pub is pretty busy. Which is odd as there really is fuck all else around here! What's even odder is the parade of Love Island and TOWIE sorts who start wandering in just after 8. Seems a spoons in the heart of London that's otherwise mostly shut is the place to be seen these days. Fuck knows why.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4OZwRzjL-cY/W7KNADhQtBI/AAAAAAAAEz4/zCs_kdKrvDYILDZgMSzflabD3phti7HKgCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20180929_211534.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4OZwRzjL-cY/W7KNADhQtBI/AAAAAAAAEz4/zCs_kdKrvDYILDZgMSzflabD3phti7HKgCK4BGAYYCw/s400/20180929_211534.jpg" width="193" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pub view</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Q_jOWUjbnlU/W7KNCzlwNUI/AAAAAAAAE0E/LC69S6Yyf7MyhGub5te1eAMlvIsREDpWQCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20180929_224445.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Q_jOWUjbnlU/W7KNCzlwNUI/AAAAAAAAE0E/LC69S6Yyf7MyhGub5te1eAMlvIsREDpWQCK4BGAYYCw/s400/20180929_224445.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Where's that fucking cab?"</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />Before long, we're staring at trains home and rather than head for London Bridge which is closer, the majority elect for Blackfriars as it entails services directly back to the Republic. After a quick walk down, we make the train with a couple of minutes to spare and after an uneventful journey, Dukey and I are alighting back where we started about 12 hours ago. He calls up his new Duchess to come give his drunken arse a lift home and I leave him to negotiate his love based Uber, heading off back to HQ. Sadly, my plans to get some greasy food are denied by the kebab being shut at the Green, so I stumble into home having had almost bugger all grub today. A quick sandwich just ain't going to cut it where a Saturday away day intake is concerned. Tomorrow may be something of a struggle.<br /><br />Still, at least I'd managed to ditch Mr X's Scotland programme somewhere along the way, although fuck knows where.<br /><br />A successful day all round then!<br /><br />Taz<br /><br /><i>Totts subsequently did a little piece on the old Mitcham Stadium story <b><a href="http://www.gandermonium.com/2018/10/mitcham-stadium-mysteries.html" target="_blank">HERE</a></b></i>Tazhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13058062784601238593noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9211878954912175436.post-55579970773591291092018-09-28T08:53:00.001+01:002018-09-28T08:53:08.444+01:00Cannibalism or HerbalismSo, lets start with the positive and recap on the previous and what a great win/performance Saturday was against Wrexham! Thankfully yours truly missed the Boreham Wood fixture (less said about that, the better!), which happened to be the first home league game I'd missed since December 2015. Wrexham however was possibly the best performance I have seen in a long time and well done to all involved.<br /><br /><a name='more'></a>Now it is time for what we would call 'a bogey side' – Dover Athletic, and for me personally this is a club and area that I am not fond of.&nbsp; Thankfully, part of that is resolved as I no longer have to go down to said area for work purposes anymore. So fond of this place was I, that each time I did go there my colleague and I upon arrival always used to say to one another “what time is our train going back?”.&nbsp; I would hazard a guess though that once upon a time that Dover was not only a nice place to visit but to live. Naturally, this team are also part of Robbo’s list of teams I do not like which, as Southampton Steve asks “Is there any team that you do like?” the answer to this categorically is no! Well, apart from Sutton of course!<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jJaIlw4nAqo/W61ZoGvAR4I/AAAAAAAAGCY/1Nz4cNN1W2Q5lZqxANRYMeQm3ZtPpqaAQCEwYBhgL/s1600/IMG_0968.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jJaIlw4nAqo/W61ZoGvAR4I/AAAAAAAAGCY/1Nz4cNN1W2Q5lZqxANRYMeQm3ZtPpqaAQCEwYBhgL/s400/IMG_0968.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">People</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />I was originally going to be joined tonight by a friend from Chelsea who I have shared the same area of the Matthew Harding Lower with for many years; however near to the time of leaving I am called by their wife to say they are not feeling too well and will sadly not be coming.&nbsp; Therefore, it will be an Uber to the ground for and for the first time ever my driver is someone I have had before – Arvin, who was the chap who picked me up from East Croydon on my journey back from Scotland after the Airdrie game. I now have my Sutton hat on and go into networking and stakeholder engagement mode by selling Sutton United to him and he compliments on how good our club are doing.&nbsp; Cheers Arvin that is another five stars for you. Of course, this maintains my own average rating <i><span style="color: #38761d;">(Still not a perfect 5.0 though is it sunshine? - Ed)</span></i><br /><br />Upon arrival to the club I take a pew with Half Time Steve (HTS) and Ryan and we discuss how can we go from losing 4-0 to Boredom Wood to then winning 3-0 against Wrexham! It is here that the team for today is distributed via the modern means of technology:-&nbsp;<b><i>26. Butler, 2. Bennett, 3. Thomas A, 5, Cloughie, 6. JC (skipper), 16. Bailey, 15. Eastmond, 18. Wayne Brown, 7. Tombo, 10. Ayunga, 20. Tommy Wright</i></b><br /><b><i><br /></i></b><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WUa3rYEFoqI/W61ZnC-3htI/AAAAAAAAGCM/Ee6xKtBvHmUJxg7fmmvrLzJtd_GxCks7wCEwYBhgL/s1600/IMG_0963.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WUa3rYEFoqI/W61ZnC-3htI/AAAAAAAAGCM/Ee6xKtBvHmUJxg7fmmvrLzJtd_GxCks7wCEwYBhgL/s400/IMG_0963.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Peno</td></tr></tbody></table><b><i><br /></i></b><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Upon entering the stadium I notice on the other side to the queue is one of my work’s directors – she is a home and away follower of Woking but has decided to pop along and watch Sutton tonight, let’s hope she is not too disappointed! We have an average record in these midweek meetings at home with teams in the bottom four. The first 20 mins are all Sutton and the lads go 2-0 up in that time, the first goal coming inside the first two minutes where a Tommy Wright run with the ball is squared to Easty whose first shot was initially shot was saved only for the rebound to be tapped in. Then a 17th minute corner was headed in by Nicky Bailey and all of us on The Shoebox were wondering how many more it could be. That is unless you were looking at the scoreboard which appeared to be stuck on 1-0 and did not acknowledge the second Sutton goal until a few minutes later!<br /><br />Conversations then turn to a more disgusting nature where Mr X mentions that he left a dump in a directors only toilet at work and did not flush it. I for one know all about Mr X and his toilet matters as it took me four flushes to rid of what he left in a toilet the night before on a trip up North once. He's almost as bad at that Welsh bloke! We also wonder as to the ludicrous manner that the game has been segregated and Southampton Steve estimates around 55 Dover fans are present – the correct attendance to come later on. Popworld is another subject matter raised and Jane and Natalie talk about a Popworld opening up in Hartlepool, which I can confirm according to the Popworld website one is indeed opening in the North Eastern town, but no specific date is given. Thanks to Natalie for assisting with the title by the way, as with sounds and smells emanating from The Shoebox during the first half, we wonder what on earth has been eaten for such things to occur.<br /><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Jwi4i8J_2BU/W61ZnJBv9CI/AAAAAAAAGCQ/ZoboXGM8U4wXOIfpzs30iMquN0XmaVs9ACEwYBhgL/s1600/28ED441D-CA4D-4875-8C67-E17066E07711.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="901" height="400" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Jwi4i8J_2BU/W61ZnJBv9CI/AAAAAAAAGCQ/ZoboXGM8U4wXOIfpzs30iMquN0XmaVs9ACEwYBhgL/s400/28ED441D-CA4D-4875-8C67-E17066E07711.JPG" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Refreshment</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Ok, yes I am on blog duty, but why break the habit of a lifetime? And just around the half hour mark HTS and I start to make tracks round to the bar. As we do so, JC goes off with a knock and is replaced by Dean Beckwith, then further disaster strikes when on 36 minutes Dover are given a penalty for handball – their first even remotely vague sight of goal so far – and it's converted to make it 2-1 before half time.<br /><br />This news of a goal sort of dampens the half time mood but I chat to HTS by declaring that Home and Away is the best soap on TV – mainly because of a one Tori Morgan, she’s a star! Upon heading out for the second half, I am stopped by someone I have not seen for a while and thus engage in further networking and stakeholder engagement – its Civil Service talk. Sorry. But as the second half develops it makes me wise I had not bothered to emerge yet. What turns from a magical opening 20 minutes in the first half to something totally dreadful in the second half.&nbsp; It seems the tactic now is to lower ourselves to Dover's level and just lump the ball up and hope for the best – that is unless you come up against the giants of the Dover defence. As the game draws on and on, you get the impression something disastrous is on the horizon – like an equaliser.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tY9HAWYjQQA/W61Zn0MVGDI/AAAAAAAAGCU/zx_2oNE-2oodhKfzVm6p6wQskH6Mw1IXQCEwYBhgL/s1600/IMG_0967.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tY9HAWYjQQA/W61Zn0MVGDI/AAAAAAAAGCU/zx_2oNE-2oodhKfzVm6p6wQskH6Mw1IXQCEwYBhgL/s400/IMG_0967.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Big moon</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />With nine minutes to go, Sutton were given a bit of a lifeline when a Dover player is sent off for a challenge on Nicky Bailey.&nbsp; Now, you would think job done but no, this is us, so with three minutes left to go a Dover corner is sent in and a header is inevitably bundled in for their equaliser, just like last year. Gutting! What is left now of the time to go and a further four minutes of injury time leads to nothing and two points dropped against a terrible Dover side. An attendance of 1694 were in attendance of which 47 were from Dover. So much for Steve's 55!<br /><br />The bar afterwards is quite a sombre one but the patrons are somewhat uplifted by watching Derby County beat Manchester United on penalties in the League Cup. As Dukey and Greek leave I mention to Dukey that not only will yours truly not be at Dublin but also not at Leyton Orient this weekend, which leads to him saying a double F you to me. Charming. Hey a Greenshaw High School reunion is not an opportunity to be turned down!<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UO_tBUF-fso/W61ZmyzddCI/AAAAAAAAGCQ/FndCxV1VTVgvIOj_xnI9Uxh-EkL2e8xKgCEwYBhgL/s1600/IMG_0961.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UO_tBUF-fso/W61ZmyzddCI/AAAAAAAAGCQ/FndCxV1VTVgvIOj_xnI9Uxh-EkL2e8xKgCEwYBhgL/s400/IMG_0961.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stool</td></tr></tbody></table><br />With a result like this we also get the usual people on social media telling us how we have let them down with their accumulators and thus us being “coupon busters”.&nbsp; Hey as that advert says chaps “when the fun stops, stop”!! If you don't want to lose, don't bet.<br /><br />As mentioned, I will sadly not be at Orient on Saturday but I for one know it will be a tough game and a win or even a draw would be a bonus. Good luck all!<br /><br />Wise men say…<br /><br />Robbo<br /><div><br /></div>Gander Moniumhttps://plus.google.com/100970888492967679847noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9211878954912175436.post-42587636446449285372018-09-24T21:26:00.002+01:002018-09-24T23:03:39.365+01:00More Rabbit than Sainsbury'sA week might be a long time in football, but four days is just as bad. After the bumming we received from Boring Wood on Tuesday night, it was our turn to take on the Wrexham. And they for once were actually riding high at the moment. Could this be the year they finally break their ten years plus of wandering the wastelands of non-league?<br /><br /><a name='more'></a>It was also a shame to hear the news that Chas of "Chas n' Dave" fame, had finally gone to the great old boozer in the sky. You could never go wrong with a bit of a cockney knee's up. Can you John? Well <i>there ain't no pleasing you</i> is there! I'll just have to stop all this <i>rabbit</i> and take the <i>old dog and me</i> down <i>the massage parlour </i>for a bit of <i>strummin'</i> and <i>beer belly banjos</i>. OK, I'll stop now, <i>gertcha</i>! No, I really will now...<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zbrWDSroags/W6kNtofkUCI/AAAAAAAAFos/KGVmqLynLCs7jUy5aEiw5Afsos_olvXTwCEwYBhgL/s1600/WP_20180922_013.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="901" height="400" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zbrWDSroags/W6kNtofkUCI/AAAAAAAAFos/KGVmqLynLCs7jUy5aEiw5Afsos_olvXTwCEwYBhgL/s400/WP_20180922_013.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wales!</td></tr></tbody></table><br />I really can't believe that we careering towards the end of September already. Talk about time flying and all that bollocks. Eleven league games we're already into this season. And the cups haven't even started yet <i><span style="color: #38761d;">(Except the Irn Bru you div? - Ed)</span></i>. But we're still in the mix of things at the moment, so no one can complain. But we'll try to anyway about something or other. Give us a minute.<br /><br />After a previous engagement the night before, I arose a little later than expected on the Saturday morning. And what a shitty morning it was, the rain was coming down heavy enough that I even thought that it was time to bust out a piece of old club merchandise. Namely an umbrella I brought a few years back and never used before today. And considering that we were to be segregated and we'd be on the Shoebox all afternoon this would be an inspirational idea. Especially when I could block the view of others behind me into the bargain! What a bastard I am...<br /><br />Walking to the station, I take out some necessary funds. The train drops me off in Sutton, so it's off to 'Spoons for a livener. Surprisingly there appears to be more coppers (two of them) then away supporters in here. Rax was to even make an appearance and after another cheeky pint we find out from the wonder of the twitter that there have been plenty of changes to the team from Tuesday. Beckwith, Davis, Beautyman, Wishart, Taylor &amp; Laffayette have made way for Collins, Thomas, Ayunga, Cadogan, Brown &amp; Bailey<br /><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-b5RVtk1ZvGk/W6kNsh42yiI/AAAAAAAAFo0/MOvKJ2_LVGYQCrIhgd76X7ngnIueG31qwCEwYBhgL/s1600/WP_20180922_012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-b5RVtk1ZvGk/W6kNsh42yiI/AAAAAAAAFo0/MOvKJ2_LVGYQCrIhgd76X7ngnIueG31qwCEwYBhgL/s400/WP_20180922_012.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">But it's eight o'clock?</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><b><i>Butler, Bennett, Thomas, Clough, Collins, Ayunga, Cadogan, Eastmond, Bailey, Brown, Wright. Bench Warmers: Beckwith, Bolarinwa, Beautyman, Taylor, Drinan.</i></b><br /><b><i><br /></i></b>On a very wet day, Wrexham started the stronger and showed why there were second in the table.&nbsp; And although Butler was not tested, the possession that Wrexham had gave Sutton a couple of problems at the back. Slowly getting themselves into the game, Sutton started to carve out some pressure with the speed &amp; strength of Ayunga.<br /><br />On the quarter of an hour mark, Sutton were awarded a corner. But before it could be taken, the man in the middle (who was somewhat inconsistent today) holds up play to talk to Clough and his marker. Lecture over, the ball is whipped in, but the ref blows up again and points to the spot. Clearly the warning had fallen upon deaf ears. Collins steps up to the plate and calmly slots the ball home once again. <b>1-0! </b>And we won't mention the second penalty appeal either...<br /><b><br /></b>Now in the lead, Sutton begun to turn the screw. Clough had the ball in the back of the net from a cross but it was given offside. From our point of view on the Shoebox though, we couldn't see how he was off. The respite was only temporary as Sutton did eventually get a second. This time it was a cross from the left from Thomas that Wrexham were unfortunate not o clear and it fell to Cadogan in the six yard bx and his poke knocked it into the corner of the onion bag. <b>2-0!</b><br /><b><br /></b>Wrexham's misery was soon to get worse before the half was over. The ball was bouncing around in the centre of the park when Ayunga tried to get the it down. Next thing you know he's down on the floor after a heavy challenge. The ref blows and thinking it'll be a yellow, I'm not alone in being surprised that it's a red. Looking later at the highlights, it appears to be heavier then at first viewing, but I'm still not sure.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9X9iV9pTSOU/W6kNpUoYe-I/AAAAAAAAFoo/jfc4EGXVzm0Ywzmc9Kg7yhYDdBlWYUKtwCEwYBhgL/s1600/WP_20180922_008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9X9iV9pTSOU/W6kNpUoYe-I/AAAAAAAAFoo/jfc4EGXVzm0Ywzmc9Kg7yhYDdBlWYUKtwCEwYBhgL/s400/WP_20180922_008.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The travelling contingent...</td></tr></tbody></table><br />After sending in Dr Bell for his halftime round (meaning he missed the red card), we take a look at the other scores from the division. Once again it appears that this could be an open season with a few results going our way. The only problem with sending the Doctor to the bar meant that he came back with the "two bottles for £4" offer. And try drinking that in ten minutes. Still, as the old saying goes; "At least none of us are on a Polish football vlog". Well....not all of us anyway.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-SIfzgYt-75Y/W6kNlmijK4I/AAAAAAAAFog/iOdnqdLDJzgc6H6iKyKQMN7diBv5QzatwCEwYBhgL/s1600/WP_20180922_002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-SIfzgYt-75Y/W6kNlmijK4I/AAAAAAAAFog/iOdnqdLDJzgc6H6iKyKQMN7diBv5QzatwCEwYBhgL/s400/WP_20180922_002.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wally underneath a brolly...</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Second half and I'm just walking round towards the Shoebox from the bar when Sutton grab another goal. This time it was Bennett who crossed the ball dangerously into the box whilst everyone was shouting at him to shoot. Eastmond was the quickest ti react and nutted the ball into the corner. <b>3-0! </b>Fuckin' 'ell! three goals to the good against a team that have only conceded five in eleven this season.<br /><br />Just after the hour mark, Ayunga is withdrawn, to a well deserved applause, to be replaced with Bolarinwa. Bailey, who was superb at times with his distribution, tried to get in on the action and was unfortunate enough to see his shot from outside of the box be palmed away by the travelling keeper. If only it was aimed more into the top corner and not hit with his left foot.<br /><br />Wright would come off for Drinan. Butler at the other end seemed to have a rather quiet afternoon. Anything that was aimed at the goal, and there wasn't much, was right at him. He also was allowed to collect anything in the air that came into the box. A very different approach from Wrexham compared to Boring Wood.<br /><br />Ten minutes to go and Captain Collins is substituted with Beckwith. Sutton kept up the pressure though and once again, this time it's Drinan with a golden opportunity to add insult to injury but the keeper made a save that probably owed more to luck than judgement. Bailey had the final chance as he was involved in a short corner that gifted him a clear run at goal. Unfortunately, Bailey still hadn't got a left foot and managed to hit the ball high and wide.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ygNiGgOnUdI/W6kNrXTjCRI/AAAAAAAAFos/oM2GPnyp4hUi2VIg73pD8lczLSc7IuyNwCEwYBhgL/s1600/WP_20180922_011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ygNiGgOnUdI/W6kNrXTjCRI/AAAAAAAAFos/oM2GPnyp4hUi2VIg73pD8lczLSc7IuyNwCEwYBhgL/s400/WP_20180922_011.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Caaaake!</td></tr></tbody></table><br />After the usual match duties it's into the bar for refreshments. But not until some of the boys do their bit and buy our tickets for the forthcoming away trip to Leyton Orient. I was even <strike>pissed</strike> charitable enough to buy Taz his ticket for him as he's skint until pay day. Well, gotta help the club haven't we. That's at least two times 90p winging its way into the coffers.<br /><br />Also there was a birthday in the house. father Beckett was celebrating his 59th, which soon became his 57th, and ended up as his 55th birthday as the night progressed. Still, there was cake, so no one really gave a monkeys. With October looking to be a really fuckin' expensive month for Banco di Dukey, I decided to bring the Saturday festivities to an early end. Nabbing a ride, I'm back home sharpish, even before the clock has struck ten o'clock. But not before a certain anonymous club official had spread inhuman and down right disgusting rumours concerning my beloved Surrey Senior Cup! What a Bastard!<br /><br />We now move onto Dover at home on Tuesday.&nbsp;they might be bottom of the league, but I do seem to remember a <b><a href="http://www.gandermonium.com/2016/12/therell-be-bluebirds-over-white-cliffs.html" target="_blank">midweek match</a></b> against them down the Lane not so long ago that ended in a right old bumming. Plus we met a crap <b><a href="http://www.gandermonium.com/2017/11/the-likely-lads.html" target="_blank">Torquay</a></b> about this time last season at the Lane and got done in that one as well. So hopefully there will be no repeats this time, but it's a match against a team in the bottom four and, well Sutton are known for their performances against teams in the shit. Enjoy!<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NjID00jlOL4/W6kNvuD0vKI/AAAAAAAAFow/xEA89qUIrl0IYjp0Gd4xQyvtEPU0mY70QCEwYBhgL/s1600/WP_20180924_003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="901" height="400" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NjID00jlOL4/W6kNvuD0vKI/AAAAAAAAFow/xEA89qUIrl0IYjp0Gd4xQyvtEPU0mY70QCEwYBhgL/s400/WP_20180924_003.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ah, Binnsy...I knew him well.</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Duke<br />Att. 2050<br /><br />Dukehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15782806444120070028noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9211878954912175436.post-75376036942842986652018-09-20T15:39:00.000+01:002018-09-20T19:48:55.638+01:00Red Light Spells DangerBloody Boreham Wood. What is it about those fellas from Hertfordshire that causes grown, supposedly semi-professional footballers to revert to a type of teenage mentality compromising about as much use as an Iranian gin salesman. Plus it's also not the first time that Sutton have put up about as much fight as a French Army Division. Oh no...<br /><br /><a name='more'></a>I can't remember why I did it, just simple exuberance of youth maybe? A deep-seated desire to tackle any challenge large or small? Or just simple bloody mindlessness? But yes, I actually volunteered to write this bleedin' blog. What a fuckin' plonker! So let's cast our minds back, to Saturday. And as Chairman Totts was speeding down the A3 in Dirty Barry's&nbsp;<a href="http://www.gandermonium.com/2018/09/ten-bob-pimp.html" target="_blank"><b>Shaggin' Wagon</b></a>, the Gandermonium boys were taking the ever unreliable choo-choo down South.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jdmgpd2rQ5U/W6Od3YpAzVI/AAAAAAAAFdg/xY_1H4gDDag3WQ-slWRhDdbOgau5zBSmACLcBGAs/s1600/WP_20180918_004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jdmgpd2rQ5U/W6Od3YpAzVI/AAAAAAAAFdg/xY_1H4gDDag3WQ-slWRhDdbOgau5zBSmACLcBGAs/s400/WP_20180918_004.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Enough said...</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Like a episode from the Twilight Zone and despite the best efforts of a train strike, the train is actually running and is on bleedin' time! The fucked up thing of it was, with the reduced service, the train would stop randomly in-between stations for a few minutes to make sure that the service stayed on time &amp; didn't run early. We've certainly never had that experience before!<br /><br />Less than an hour into the journey, and I make a simple enquiry of the EIC about the current blog rota and knowing that Boring Wood was yet to be decided, I offered my services. Well, I'm due to be on point for Wrexham on Saturday, so it could be a bit of a warm up. "I'll probably just do a Airdrie part 2, the match won't be nothing to write home about." Gandermonium Precognition Services right there. We're always right, until we're wrong obviously.<br /><br />You'll have to look at Taz's effort as he pulled rank and brought you the full story on our little trip to&nbsp;<a href="http://www.gandermonium.com/2018/09/made-from-gur-durs.html" style="font-weight: bold;" target="_blank">Airdrie</a>. Or so you'd think, but there was one or two little bits of juicy information that he missed out on. Saturday night being one of them, mainly as he went back to the hotel to drink M&amp;S gin and tonics with Keepo. The young &amp; trendy, plus Pete, meanwhile headed off in the direction of Popworld. But you'll have to ask those there if there was any <strike>gossip</strike>&nbsp;'goss' to be had. There might not be, but then again, there might! Wink wink. See, building the tension &amp; suspense already.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_hxuP4RYXXg/W6OjeGbk-WI/AAAAAAAAFjk/UY82dDSfKywL6tMVaZW_uaKTr64rCW5QQCLcBGAs/s1600/WP_20180909_002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="901" height="400" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_hxuP4RYXXg/W6OjeGbk-WI/AAAAAAAAFjk/UY82dDSfKywL6tMVaZW_uaKTr64rCW5QQCLcBGAs/s400/WP_20180909_002.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beer Tower...</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Over to the hardcore, namely me, Dr Bell &amp; Mr X. And could we find Popworld? Like fuck we could. Walking up one road, then back down the bloody thing, it's not long before we decided to just admit defeat and use Google to find it. Success. Just as we're on the right path, we spot several people outside a sign with title, "Club Tropicana". And who is outside feeding the habit whilst simultaneously trying his luck with the ladies? None other than Baby "feed the Yak" Beckett. "Come on in lads!" Shouts the big man, "Popworld is shite, you wanna be in here". Yeah, it didn't take much persuasion for us to then head down a set of stairs towards the sounds coming from depths underground. £8 was the entrance fee, but this does include not one but two stamps of ink on the hand. I really should've just told the girl to use another pad.<br /><br />Club Tropicana is a place that is separated into two different rooms. On the left was the 90s room and to the right was 80s. Needless to say we went right. What? We're fuckin' old! Straight to the bar, as is always the case and Dr Bell is already tapping his feet to a tune from Miami Sound Machine. With a pretty limited choice of beverages and the problems of communication between me and anyone that speaks both because of the volume and of course the language barrier, we eventually plump for three cans of Red Stripe. "£12" was the reply; sorry what? I asked for only three. But yes, in the land of supposedly cheap drinking. we find a place charging £4 for a fuckin' can. I could see Chairman Totts turn on his mattress in the back of an Escort Van at that very moment.<br /><br />Eventually over the shock and handing over the money, we survey the crowd and find right in front of us several other members of the B-Team. They were clearly enjoying themselves, one or two more than the others it seems. She looked alright from the back didn't she Baby Beckett? Clive appeared to be waiter for the night as every time we saw him he was carrying Vodka Red Bulls back from the bar.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AiYW1R7rgSw/W6OjfLal9DI/AAAAAAAAFjs/QK4FRIXmDoEKVtNZNtAXqc9vT0xAMy9aACLcBGAs/s1600/WP_20180909_003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AiYW1R7rgSw/W6OjfLal9DI/AAAAAAAAFjs/QK4FRIXmDoEKVtNZNtAXqc9vT0xAMy9aACLcBGAs/s400/WP_20180909_003.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Happier times...</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />At some point in the early hours we decided it was time to head back to the hotel, especially considering Mr X had an earlier flight than the rest of us. So we say our goodbyes and hunt out some local cuisine. Kebab wraps all round! We're still not too sure what one Mr X actually had, but if it was the advertised 'Beef' then it was epic. Much like the B-Team showing us a photo of their not-quite-5-star-on-Trip-Advisor digs for the night. Gotta give credit to who ever decided that ten blokes could all sleep in the same room with several mattresses on the floor for beds. And we won't even go down the road of the story of the 'Wanking Chair'.<br /><br />Now I know I've been putting it off for as long as I can but I suppose I better say a few things about the football from Tuesday night. So what happened with Spurs then? After heading to the bar, as Ipswich 'Supergrass' Lee had offered to buy us a drink (he didn't), we got to see The Firm Leader turn on a sixpence as Inter knock in two goals right at the death. "Don't worry fella, the Sutton match is about to start. Can't be any worse!" are the words I console him with as we head for the turnstiles.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rxgAf-PMnDw/W6Ojqr0sPXI/AAAAAAAAFkk/sMADyBdNPG0rk26VuAbmwDMopJz23Ig8ACLcBGAs/s1600/WP_20180909_016.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rxgAf-PMnDw/W6Ojqr0sPXI/AAAAAAAAFkk/sMADyBdNPG0rk26VuAbmwDMopJz23Ig8ACLcBGAs/s400/WP_20180909_016.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Watching kids in Glasgow. And who's the monk?</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Yeah, we got bummed. Really bummed. From the moment that Balanta had slotted the ball home after a couple of minutes, we were in trouble. Let's face it, Boring Wood were more hungry, had more pace, used more strength and just generally embarrassed us in the first 20. Our worry seems to be that we're not scoring enough goals. But maybe a kick in the teeth might be the thing the boys need to wake up.<br /><br />The funny things is that, we actually created one or two decent chances ourselves. Clough saw a header fly past the wrong side of the post. Lafayette had an open goal, but a tight angle, to aim at and saw it hit the woodwork. And in the final moments of the match Eastmond rushed into the box and thumped his shot against the bar.<br /><br />We move on continuously though, and onto the visit of the Welsh lot. Trust us to come up against one of the in-form sides at the moment right after we've had our pants pulled down. Dread to think how many they're be bringing down with them. But the real worry for us will be that, knowing how Sutton are, we'll get a result against Wrexham and then fuck it up against Dover on the Tuesday. Oh well, onward &amp; upwards and all that shit.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-t9QkrqjQx5w/W6Od4HoAfvI/AAAAAAAAFdk/gNT3zDpA20sx60iv4WbdleOJRiMre8krwCLcBGAs/s1600/WP_20180918_005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-t9QkrqjQx5w/W6Od4HoAfvI/AAAAAAAAFdk/gNT3zDpA20sx60iv4WbdleOJRiMre8krwCLcBGAs/s400/WP_20180918_005.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ease the pain lads...</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Enjoy!<br /><br />Duke<br />Att. 1677<br /><br />Dukehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15782806444120070028noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9211878954912175436.post-4751057559952903962018-09-20T11:38:00.002+01:002018-09-20T11:38:53.495+01:00Adelante Alicante! - Football AbroadThe history of football in Alicante is bound up with the legacy of the Spanish Civil War. This was the last city to fall to Franco and the walls and unmarked graves are pocked with the bullet holes and full of the corpses of the tens of thousands tortured, starved and killed as Falangist reprisals let rip in the days and years after 1939.<br /><br /><a name='more'></a>Much of that history remains hidden as part of the compact struck on the return to democracy after the Generalissimo’s death in 1975.&nbsp; The first time I ever came to Spain on a Pontinental package holiday, Franco was still in power and the fact that fascist dictatorship still held sway on the Iberian Peninsula within my own living memory leaves me feeling cold.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vlC6HtGT6qU/W6N14l17bkI/AAAAAAAAEw8/Vfve9yc7L2w-oCePT-iisPJ_oaWnYsYBQCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/IMG_0340.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vlC6HtGT6qU/W6N14l17bkI/AAAAAAAAEw8/Vfve9yc7L2w-oCePT-iisPJ_oaWnYsYBQCK4BGAYYCw/s400/IMG_0340.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">'La Cantina'. Spanish for 'Roses Tea Hut'. Honest.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />I fell in love with this part of the Costa Blanca around twenty years ago and I’m lucky enough to spend about five weeks of the year out here.&nbsp; In a few years time I hope it will be a lot more.&nbsp; The culture, climate and cuisine suit me down to the ground and I’m proud to be one of a group of amateur historians documenting the Civil War history of the area and I run a <b><a href="http://costablancacivilwar.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">blog</a></b> that I plan to turn into a book at some point in the future.<br /><br />I’m also a proud Herculano- a long suffering fan of the main Alicante team, Hercules, who despite their mighty Rico Perez stadium, where England played a friendly against Spain just a few years ago, have been scuffing around the complex third tier of the Spanish game for too long. It’s a bastard of a thing clawing your way back out of Segunda B and into La Liga 2 but we’ve had a good start and this may be our year.&nbsp; Just like every year is our fucking year. Supporting Hercules is like supporting Tooting and Mitcham with knobs on.<br /><br />Franco hated Alicante, and with his mate Santiago Bernabeu, who had a holiday gaff just down the road from here in Santa Pola, and where a street is still named after the old bastard, he did all he could to fuck over football in the area.&nbsp; Before the game was stopped during La Guerra, Hercules had on its books one of the finest players of his generation, Manolo Macia, also from Santa Pola.&nbsp; This being a republican stronghold Manolo opposed the Nationalists and managed to escape to France where he played for Nice.<br /><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XpSLQ91Ob1w/W6N106AMWHI/AAAAAAAAEw0/xNfTPNlLUCcfd4o41fNzTAhbDzUOVrgDwCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/0000130.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XpSLQ91Ob1w/W6N106AMWHI/AAAAAAAAEw0/xNfTPNlLUCcfd4o41fNzTAhbDzUOVrgDwCK4BGAYYCw/s400/0000130.jpg" width="255" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Manolo Macia - Pic: <a href="http://herculanos.com/">herculanos.com</a></td></tr></tbody></table><br />But the Guarda Civil kept him on their radar and when he eventually returned to Spain they framed him up on a charge of burning down a church.&nbsp; On his release from prison he went on to coach his local Santa Pola team where the stadium is today named after him in tribute.&nbsp; They play in the Regional Preferente and it’s a great place to watch a game.<br /><br />I’ve managed to watch non-league football at a number of grounds around Alicante over the years. In addition to Santa Pola, CD Altet, Torrelano and Villajoyosa are all worth a look. I’ve got plenty more to knock off in years to come as well as spending more time on the mighty concrete banks of the Rico Perez with a Monte Cristo and a Mahou.<br /><br />But if Hercules have had a tough time, it’s nothing compared to the rocky road travelled by this magnificent city's second string outfit, CFI Alicante. I hadn’t managed to clock a game at their gaff, the lovely Antonio Solana Stadium, as yet but landing in Alicante airport last Sunday lunchtime I was in good time to drop my gear off, have a quick bob up and head into town for their early evening kick off against CD Illicitana, nearby Elche’s B team.<br /><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-oxxalw11MIo/W6N19P1sADI/AAAAAAAAExM/BlDjAHGo9FM3BAfSaJ-863HEjcybibA6ACK4BGAYYCw/s1600/IMG_0337.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-oxxalw11MIo/W6N19P1sADI/AAAAAAAAExM/BlDjAHGo9FM3BAfSaJ-863HEjcybibA6ACK4BGAYYCw/s400/IMG_0337.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">When it's sunny all the time, you don't need a roof...</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />If you are on the Costa Blanca during the football season I would obviously advise a trip to see Hercules, or one of the many Football Modesto sides dotted along the coast plying their trade in the Regional Preferente leagues, but if I’m being brutally honest, and you are a neutral, a trip to CFI Alicante will blow you away.&nbsp; You can reach the ground by tram on Line 2 out of the main terminal, Lucheros, and the Red Corner Sports Bar next to the station is worth dropping into for a quick livener en route.<br /><br />The sweeping, pale blue front entrance to the stadium looks fantastic and after paying up your eight euros you will find the brilliant La Cantina to your left hand side where you can lean on the bar with the locals and get some strong coffee, brandy or Alhambra beer and tapas down your neck. It’s also got a built in restaurant come trophy room if you want to push the boat out.&nbsp; I loved it and could imagine whiling many a late afternoon away up here with a decent cigar and a few glasses of something convivial. A slipper and a cup of splosh from Roses Tea hut it ain't.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />The ground holds about four thousand and most of the locals head for the excellent open-topped grandstand which has a superb view.&nbsp; The hardcore remain at La Cantina which stretches along most of one end and you can carry on drinking and eating to your hearts content as the game cracks on.&nbsp; Why wouldn’t you?&nbsp; One side has some rows of seats picking out the old club name and the other end has a bit of a wacky, steep terrace arrangement and a classic score board that does just the job.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ue51deTH1zw/W6N3k9qG0KI/AAAAAAAAEx4/_br7Div6x_gyd4N3aizaJ-BheND8RH6EACK4BGAYYCw/s1600/IMG_0335.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ue51deTH1zw/W6N3k9qG0KI/AAAAAAAAEx4/_br7Div6x_gyd4N3aizaJ-BheND8RH6EACK4BGAYYCw/s400/IMG_0335.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No turnstiles? Decepcionado!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />CFI is the latest incarnation of this club, with the I for independente being added when the old CF Alicante went bust back in 2014, but other than that small change they have retained the original club badge and are proud of a hundred years of footballing history in this, their centenary year.&nbsp; And they are flying, top of the league, and on this occasion they absolutely spanked the Elche lads five nil and played some great football, on grass as it goes which is very unusual for football at this level in Spain.<br /><br />It’s many years since CFI Alicante’s forebears, CD Alicante, who Manolo Macia also turned out for for a season back in 1940, were doing their stuff in the second tier of the Spanish game but they are a fabulous and hospitable club and it’s great to see them on the up after some tough times.&nbsp; Their set up, which incorporates a number of training pitches within the stadium area, is clearly a community based model that is working for 'em.<br /><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-y_JXFzA4AJU/W6N2AvSA_EI/AAAAAAAAExc/-XA5O4uUtogtKYa8NimKNmmcoMHTv3taACK4BGAYYCw/s1600/IMG_0353.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-y_JXFzA4AJU/W6N2AvSA_EI/AAAAAAAAExc/-XA5O4uUtogtKYa8NimKNmmcoMHTv3taACK4BGAYYCw/s400/IMG_0353.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Hello? Is this thing on??"</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Adelante!<br /><br />See you at La Cantina<br /><br />Totts<br /><br /><br /><i><span style="color: #38761d;">For more of Totts Costa Blanca Spanish Civil War stuff, click <b><a href="http://costablancacivilwar.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">HERE</a></b>!</span></i><br /><i><span style="color: #38761d;"><br /></span></i><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Gander Moniumhttps://plus.google.com/100970888492967679847noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9211878954912175436.post-35429740023849175112018-09-16T14:41:00.001+01:002018-09-16T14:41:30.569+01:00Ten Bob PimpI'm not a fan of clubs merging.&nbsp; It all started going wrong when Corinthians merged with The Casuals for me and it's been down hill ever since.&nbsp; I mean, even that bird on Countdown who does all the really hard sums hasn't got a clue how many thousands of Essex clubs eventually ended up in the Dagenham and Redbridge melting pot and don't even get me started on all that fucking nonsense at Gravesend.&nbsp; What goes on down there doesn't concern me at all.<br /><br /><a name='more'></a>If you're thinking that this opening gambit is all some convoluted way of levering in a seventies reference then you are a deeply cynical little fucker and guess what?&nbsp; You are absolutely right.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wTkTO2wMZiQ/W55cQnzm4wI/AAAAAAAAGAc/xKdKb3jj_aURE725Xzv56wLonQT6drEqQCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_20180915_113935.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wTkTO2wMZiQ/W55cQnzm4wI/AAAAAAAAGAc/xKdKb3jj_aURE725Xzv56wLonQT6drEqQCLcBGAs/s400/IMG_20180915_113935.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">All the essentials</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />I've taken you through 'Starting Handle 74' at Plough Lane, the path from Glam Rock to Punk Rock, power cuts, Double Diamond, On The Buses and the Dirty Barry "Knock Three Times" singalong as you've joined me in this merry cultural march of the more mature yobbo through the pages of Gandermonium, but let's not end our love affair with the Only Decade That Matters just yet kids.&nbsp; Because now 1975 is calling us loud and clear as we rev up the engine of the Mark 3 Cortina for a trip to Havant and WATERLOOVILLE.<br /><br />Back in the Rothmans Isthmian League days, when fags were cool and the very idea of grown men puffing on fucking test tubes of strawberries and cream flavoured steam would have rightly got you a punch up the bracket, the opportunity to play a side from outside of your natural orbit was one to be relished and that meant the cups. In those heady days Waterlooville were in the second tier of the once mighty Southern League and some old drunk in a blazer pulling them out the velvet bag for an FA Cup fourth qualifier at GGL, one step from a possible league draw, was a proper top up for the old teenage testosterone and definitely cause enough to head to the khazi to knock one out.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-SPDzxaOnfCw/W55cQKApNoI/AAAAAAAAGBA/C4xsyqfc-KcmRZrW0TH5eWpd5olDSaOpwCEwYBhgL/s1600/IMG_20180915_124041.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-SPDzxaOnfCw/W55cQKApNoI/AAAAAAAAGBA/C4xsyqfc-KcmRZrW0TH5eWpd5olDSaOpwCEwYBhgL/s400/IMG_20180915_124041.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Don't envy Bacon in the back there!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />My memory is bolloxed and I'm indebted to the Eternal Ray Of Sunshine (EROS) aka Frakey for sending me the match reports and programmes from the Waterlooville home draw, when we thought we'd ballsed it up, and the replay which we won comfortably taking us through to a first round home draw with Bournemouth which was tasty and also ended all square before they narrowly took us out at their place in the replay.&nbsp; My first taste of Sutton in the proper rounds of the old FA Cup and also an early taste of Players No 6 (purloined from my Nan) and Ind Coope light ale (purloined from the offy). Drinking and smoking at 13 was actually legal back then my mates. I think.<br /><br />For all you music buffs out there, twinkle eyed David Essex was topping the hit parade at this point in time with his cheeky sex-fuelled ballad 'Hold Me Tight' - a tune which contains one of my personal favourites euphemisms for a lob on "love light shining". Mind you, punk rock couldn't come soon enough as this was the era of the so-called "novelty record" with the likes of the Goodies, Una Paloma Blanca and them fucking Wombles all tasting chart success. Telly Savalas spoken word version of "If" gets a pass as I loved Kojak and he pioneered a hair style that remains a classic to this day with the cool lads. And Dukey.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5zUoqJTvQGY/W55cQoIt7MI/AAAAAAAAGA8/cqYbWk4eBPY-rco9H4OzGKw068ZZmEUWwCEwYBhgL/s1600/IMG_20180915_152529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5zUoqJTvQGY/W55cQoIt7MI/AAAAAAAAGA8/cqYbWk4eBPY-rco9H4OzGKw068ZZmEUWwCEwYBhgL/s320/IMG_20180915_152529.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Action!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />Anyway, what's the point I'm trying to make here about football club mergers?&nbsp; I'm buggered if I know but it's given me the opportunity to toss off a few sexy opening pars about the seventies and get me in the swing for what is officially known as my birthday weekend as I crash in to the late fifties with the prospect of a run down to Hampshire with Dirty Barry in the Shaggin Wagon through some of the South's most prime dogging real estate.<br /><br />I'm up early with all the excitement of the pre-senile birthday boy, looking out for the postie and that external possibility of a card with a postal order or a ten bob note tucked away within its secretive folds. Even the long-suffering and ever-stoical Mrs Totts is vaguely civilised towards me and I remind her that after all these years I love her like I love my turnstiles - vintage, well oiled and still up for a twist with a bit of a shove.&nbsp; She gives me a playful kick in the bollocks.&nbsp; I reckon I'm well in there later, she's a lucky lady and she knows it.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-OgXay0FYI_A/W55cRbs1vZI/AAAAAAAAGBE/mdva1PM2DbM4WEhnJTJ_4BrI-BaUTJ4cACEwYBhgL/s1600/IMG_20180915_160547.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-OgXay0FYI_A/W55cRbs1vZI/AAAAAAAAGBE/mdva1PM2DbM4WEhnJTJ_4BrI-BaUTJ4cACEwYBhgL/s400/IMG_20180915_160547.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"I think it's got a hole in it mate...."</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />Anyway, it turns up that DB has made it back from his warden-assisted SAGA sex soujorn in the Canaries although not without incident, which included someone shitting in the swimming pool, a TWO DAY delay to his flight out and some tea leaf breaking into the Shaggin Waggin at Gatwick Long Stay clearly failing to read the big sign in the back window saying "No Sex Toys Stored In This Vehicle Overnight". Wankers.&nbsp; Anyway, he texts to say it's a twelve thirty pick up from The Lane Of Lust for me and Bacon which gives me plenty of time to rinse the under-carriage and get in the mood.<br /><br />It's a special day for everyone involved so I dig out a leopard skin print shirt to add a bit of bling to the occasion. "Why are you going to football dressed like a fucking ten bob pimp?" enquires Mrs T but I know she's only messing about. The banter in our gaff is fucking comedy gold - larey but never overstepping the mark.&nbsp; Bacon pops round and I can see he's alsosimpressed with the threads and we have a natter about vintage bulkhead lighting before heading out to meet DB who is bang on time.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rkzzu4hfyBg/W55cRi8A0OI/AAAAAAAAGBM/YO84uO8NjVAysDgF0l53D84X1J1cXVpXQCEwYBhgL/s1600/IMG_20180915_162054.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rkzzu4hfyBg/W55cRi8A0OI/AAAAAAAAGBM/YO84uO8NjVAysDgF0l53D84X1J1cXVpXQCEwYBhgL/s400/IMG_20180915_162054.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"It's my ball...."</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />We are off to the A3 but somehow DB manages to set the SatNav to take in some of Surrey's finest Dogging Hot Spots en route to the almost South Coast, including Stew Ponds in Epsom and Oxshot Woods. He's got em all nailed down on Trip Advisor, don't you worry about that.&nbsp; Check em out if you don't believe me. I've bought along a chilled four pack of Babychams and me and Tone crack into em as the discussion veers around your worst ever holiday shits, to our various fucked bodily parts and the collapsing flank wall at the Spoons in North Cheam.&nbsp; Riveting stuff.<br /><br />An hour or so in we are pulling off the main drag and heading into Havant and a nice convenient parking space for the Wagon on the grass verge outside the ground. Say what you like about the Hawks gaff but it is fucking convenient if you are being chauffeured with a pub built into the ground including an outside bar and various fast food outlets.&nbsp; Carl has a pop at my gear, the aforementioned leopard skin slashed open to the waste with the gold nestling in the exposed chest hair - belying my advancing years in a cloud of Old Spice and pheromones. If you've got it, flaunt it mate.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-k5HDJpLktj0/W55cSd-bOpI/AAAAAAAAGBE/uqxS4dY-ZrQMzjIJ6nY6kDEQTB4Gxl_zgCEwYBhgL/s1600/IMG_20180915_163714.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-k5HDJpLktj0/W55cSd-bOpI/AAAAAAAAGBE/uqxS4dY-ZrQMzjIJ6nY6kDEQTB4Gxl_zgCEwYBhgL/s400/IMG_20180915_163714.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dejection</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />Beers are procured and we mob up with a couple of the COCs in the sunshine although their numbers are seriously depleted and it later turns up that only Ces has rocked up from the DILF's - poor show all round from two of the PROW's leading firms. I have a natter with Gaz Fear and his little gang and just before kick off the rest of the Gandermonium mob turn up after their regular stop off at Royston Vaisey or some other one horse village out in the sticks that serves flowery cider and undrinkable craft ale and where bestiality is still all the rage. I don't judge no one mate, you know that.<br /><br />Although there's no segregation we have to enter through an away fans turnstile so that some Nigel can count our numbers and inside I'm pleased to see that One Eyed Jason has made the trip although waving a Peckham Town scarf about. Nope, no idea what that's about.&nbsp; I grab a slipper to soak up the Babychams and we head off to hook up the DBDC banner in a prime branding location adjacent to the goal. Pleased to see that the Cocktail Crew have bought their tidy flag along as well, it all adds to the carnival atmosphere in the Hampshire sunshine.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-h3n1enCwkXA/W55cSW4r57I/AAAAAAAAGBM/CYJmz9fZcDMrQa4vBOKDiURzp5C5JjqOACEwYBhgL/s1600/IMG_20180915_164948.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-h3n1enCwkXA/W55cSW4r57I/AAAAAAAAGBM/CYJmz9fZcDMrQa4vBOKDiURzp5C5JjqOACEwYBhgL/s400/IMG_20180915_164948.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Security mobbing up</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />Aah the football.&nbsp; &nbsp;This was a cracker of a game my mates.&nbsp; Like Maidstone we start on the front foot and take the game to the home side just the way we like it.&nbsp; H is denied a penalty by a ref whose performance I'm sorry to say shifts quickly through the gears from erratic to pathetic as the game marches on. Easty is denied by a sharp covering block after being beautifully set up and when it looked like a goal was nailed on.&nbsp; As ever, I worry when we have so much possession and so much good movement that we are not making it stick and that we can get caught out.&nbsp; And so we do.&nbsp; What looked like a worldly strike from their lad from where we are in fact takes a wicked deflection that loops it past Jamie and after a prolonged break for a concussed lino,&nbsp; Christ knows how they noticed, we go in at half time one down.<br /><br />We stroll back round and generally are pretty relaxed that we can pull this round if we up the game in front of goal.&nbsp; We were going to put the DBDC banner back up but have failed to bring more than a few inches of electrical tape to hang it so that fucks that idea <i><span style="color: #38761d;">(We should have bought you some laces for your birthday mate! - Ed)</span></i>.&nbsp; &nbsp;We keep our game going, moving if about nicely and As is delivering some good balls in from the left.&nbsp; Just need to hold our nerve, this is coming. And who does the biz?&nbsp; Tommy Wright, slotting home an exquisite finish.&nbsp; Hold on, who did I pull out in the DILF DRAW OF DEATH?&nbsp; Tommy Wright!&nbsp; First time I've ever won this racket and I collect my quids from all but one of the syndicate.&nbsp; More of that in a bit.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YldO8trNcds/W55cSgD9API/AAAAAAAAGBI/T6BDfkrhIAQsFm6QlBqHO95eT8nxlNH3QCEwYBhgL/s1600/IMG_20180915_165702.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YldO8trNcds/W55cSgD9API/AAAAAAAAGBI/T6BDfkrhIAQsFm6QlBqHO95eT8nxlNH3QCEwYBhgL/s400/IMG_20180915_165702.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The masses</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />It's all us now with Havant under the cosh.&nbsp; Kenny D goes off and Jonah comes on as Dos shuffles the pack.&nbsp; What a player Jonah is, a rare talent, he immediately gets busy bullying the home team defence and it's a brilliant piece of work from the lad, steaming through the back four and pulling back a perfect ball on a plate for H to finish sending us into a frenzy.&nbsp; Few things better than turning round a deficit and we are loving it.<br /><br />Doug comes on and we also see the welcome return of Nicky Bailey to the ranks but the game ain't 'arf dragging on now as the ref appears to be pulling added minutes out of his arse at random.&nbsp; It encourages the home team to have a bit of a go and Jamie is forced to bring out a corking save from a cracking long ranger.&nbsp; But that really is about that and with the clock hitting five o'clock eventually the ref has seen enough and we celebrate another fine away win.<br /><br />I look round for Frakey but he appears to have legged it without weighing in his stake money for the DILF spieler. The purse has remained firmly snapped shut and Ces, the croupier in this bent racket, is not happy in what has now been branded by the tabloids as PurseGate. We've not heard the end of this one I wager.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pkdtB6XmmdQ/W55cTNznlzI/AAAAAAAAGBQ/gEpk4_O4D8o9muoCXkh2_Lc4aZuNXOqagCEwYBhgL/s1600/IMG_20180915_180220.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pkdtB6XmmdQ/W55cTNznlzI/AAAAAAAAGBQ/gEpk4_O4D8o9muoCXkh2_Lc4aZuNXOqagCEwYBhgL/s400/IMG_20180915_180220.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dogging</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />Even that can't put a dampener on a cracking day though and we climb back aboard the wagon for the trip back to the PROWS chuffed to bits with a fine Sutton showing both on and off the pitch.&nbsp; DB drops me off and I fire up the laptop to toss off this old pony before packing my bag for an early flight out to the Costa in the morning.&nbsp; Won't be at Boredom Wood Tuesday but should be reporting from a CFI Alicante game instead. Which would you prefer?<br /><br />See you on the Shoebox for Wrexham on Saturday.<br /><br />TottsGander Moniumhttps://plus.google.com/100970888492967679847noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9211878954912175436.post-9739545524349742712018-09-12T20:25:00.000+01:002018-09-12T20:35:09.514+01:00Made from Gur-durs!Did you hear the one about English 5th Tier teams being invited to play in the Scottish Challenge Cup this season? Hey, what are you laughing at? What, do we amuse you? This isn't some sort of silly joke, this is serious! No, you fuck off. Right that's it sunshine, fucking outside now!<br /><br /><a name='more'></a>Nope, we genuinely aren't winding you up. We've not only managed to bag us entry to the Scottish Challenge cup, or the 'Irn Bru Cup' to give it the officially mandated sponsorship bollocks, but we've also managed scab us an away trip to play Ardrieonians into the bargain. Near fucking Glasgow. Which is in fucking Scotland. Yes, as in the deep fried mars bars, tartan wearing, Alexander Graham Bell, See You Jimmy, Braveheart, SNP Scotland. That one. Baffled? Yeah, you're not alone there if we're honest.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-EFipu8BTBPQ/W5liEhsct8I/AAAAAAAAErk/afTUD4No9lYS0rSFHRsLagzMvjuMjFUTwCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20180907_155252.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-EFipu8BTBPQ/W5liEhsct8I/AAAAAAAAErk/afTUD4No9lYS0rSFHRsLagzMvjuMjFUTwCK4BGAYYCw/s400/20180907_155252.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Beat Norexia? Yeah, big fan. Loved their first album"</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jWfoJkVNvUs/W5liHpic88I/AAAAAAAAErs/iwXZidxRcgATVSXFXKPJgNvBX3QDuQMRQCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20180907_174431.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jWfoJkVNvUs/W5liHpic88I/AAAAAAAAErs/iwXZidxRcgATVSXFXKPJgNvBX3QDuQMRQCK4BGAYYCw/s400/20180907_174431.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gate</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DtaQTw4Rbm8/W5liJ6aNlXI/AAAAAAAAEr0/kZ7M-e9WPGouFwnXkfGpjf72nezD9MQSQCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20180907_193118.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DtaQTw4Rbm8/W5liJ6aNlXI/AAAAAAAAEr0/kZ7M-e9WPGouFwnXkfGpjf72nezD9MQSQCK4BGAYYCw/s400/20180907_193118.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pretty!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />Apparently our stirling efforts in finishing 3rd last season was enough to catch the eye of the people in charge of something called 'fitba' north of the border, a sport that apparently very closely resembles our own Association Football. And they've kindly invited us up for a sort of cultural exchange thing. And it's no wonder really when you think about it, we've been on the telly instead of Eastenders. We're a big deal. This also probably explains why the other English side invited were Boreham Wood. Balances it out a bit. Ying and Yang. Or something.<br /><br />Right, I think that's enough bollocks pre-amble, I suppose I'd better try and actually explain what this nonsense is actually all about. Are we all sitting comfortably? Well, the Irn Bru is a comp dreamt up back in 1990 to help celebrate the centenary of the Scottish Football League. It basically pitted all the SFL sides, excluding the top division clubs, against each other for few years until they started inviting in the top 2 clubs from the Highland League to join the fray. Then in 2016, to really sex things up, they decided to make it a bit, well, 'international'. The SFL invited in two clubs from the Welsh Premier as well as two clubs from the Northern Irish leagues as well as the U21's setups from the SPL. Last year it gained two more Irish clubs, this time from the Southern bit and then finally to this year, where us and Woooooood got the nod. Like Dirty Barry arriving in an isolated car park and flashing his headlights, sexed UP baby!<br /><br />Naturally, when the rumour hit that we might be getting asked, we all laughed and went "Bollocks!". And then all took a quick look on Skyscanner to see what flights to Scotland cost in early September. Massive cynics we may be, but it never hurts to be well prepared cynics. It only really came to life and having watched a brilliantly cobbled together draw take place live on Facebook in what looked like a medieval dungeon which had been specially whitewashed for the occasion, in which some bloke was handling ginger balls, we were rewarded with a trip to Airdrieonians. Now, being footballing connoisseurs we of course knew who this lot were. One of those famous old names you used to hear on Final Score when you were a kid. Where it was however? Not a scooby. Even Mr X who is both a Scot AND had a geography degree wasn't 100% sure. "Glasgow somewhere" was the best we got out of him.<br /><br />Oh well, it's a start.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yrncTlanWAM/W5liUCyo2LI/AAAAAAAAEr8/B0fl8HLTQiMKM3L4qlXfQvgdgqooGNizACK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20180907_195239.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yrncTlanWAM/W5liUCyo2LI/AAAAAAAAEr8/B0fl8HLTQiMKM3L4qlXfQvgdgqooGNizACK4BGAYYCw/s400/20180907_195239.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So which way now?</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PfZTbZVlDQo/W5li3W3RIII/AAAAAAAAEsU/lvfu4GoM7FQgv3mM7HuOscTJGfZ0mrngQCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20180908_014433.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PfZTbZVlDQo/W5li3W3RIII/AAAAAAAAEsU/lvfu4GoM7FQgv3mM7HuOscTJGfZ0mrngQCK4BGAYYCw/s400/20180908_014433.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Let's just have a quiet couple of pints and a curry....."</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-yz-TRSBx1ow/W5liV1nsAyI/AAAAAAAAEsE/HSxh6r4UNZ0NX9F3AstyjqGtj0WMClwbwCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20180908_022721.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-yz-TRSBx1ow/W5liV1nsAyI/AAAAAAAAEsE/HSxh6r4UNZ0NX9F3AstyjqGtj0WMClwbwCK4BGAYYCw/s400/20180908_022721.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The finger sandwiches were shite</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />Turns out our man of mystery was in the right ballpark. It's about 11 miles to the East of Glasgow. And that's why I find myself at Gatwick on a Friday afternoon with almost a dozen other dickheads and an EasyJet boarding pass. What? You didn't think we'd do this in a day did you? What do you take us for, idiots? Actually, don't answer that. No really, don't. We already know the answer. As well as our own excitement at the tie, it seems our hosts are at least a bit intrigued by having some bunch of mockneys rock up in town. And it's because of this I wind up boring the arse off Colin on the <b><a href="https://soundcloud.com/otlpodcast/sutton-united-with-taz-from-gandermonium" target="_blank">Only the Lonely podcast</a></b> for half an hour or so talking all things Sutton United and what a load of daft nonsense this is. Oh and that pie thing too. Always with the fucking pie thing.<br /><br />Having worked until 2pm, I make my way straight to the airport, arriving just a few minutes after Dukey and Dr Bell although locating them for the transfer train thingy is harder than it sounds. And time is of the essence in this case, as I've rather stupidly agreed to go do some more media whoring at short notice for an online Scots Rock &amp; Sports radio station. And getting that particular call whilst trying to go through security might get me a ticking off as well as being a little rude as the line goes dead because I've been tasered or something. So whilst Dukey has a fag, Dr Bell and I make a dash for it. Well, I do at least. He sort of hobbles. Which is handy as it means I hit the queue well before him and his newly installed bionic hip causes a major security alert. In fact, despite being a whole 3 rows away when he comes through, I hear the beep of the metal detector from where I am. This of course gets him a turn in the full body scanner, which will no doubt have scarred the poor bastard operating it for life.<br /><br />I get my latest bit of media duty done whilst the lads try to get a pint in. We also locate Pete at the bar and having eventually found a spare table, settle in to await the arrival of the rest of the mob. Slowly but surely, they all drift in with even Nat making good time from Epsom. This is good, as it means we won't have to change the motto after all. While we have a couple of pints to kill the wait, Dukey gets a call from Old Frank. "Tom, are we playing Boreham Wood tomorrow? It says we are in the fixtures". Erm, no mate. We're busy with something else. We also find out from Dr Bell about a sleep walking incident from Fylde away last season where someone of the Welsh persuasion wandered out into the car park in their pants. I'm furious. Why the fuck am I only hearing about this now? The place had CCTV! We could have got copies of the footage for fucks sake!! The full party assembled, we head for the gate when it's called, although we are down a couple of regulars. Firstly Mr X has gone up during the week to visit some old family haunts and 4 Days is off in the arse end of Denmark with Wales. Of course, he hasn't been moaning like fuck about the clash for weeks now, oh now. Robbo is also absent, but purely because he's on a later flight out after work.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8gw6ZVZA6bk/W5ljH0FY5tI/AAAAAAAAEsg/TQJM9wWNYA8iTalcO1ptTqJrIl3WH5QOACK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20180908_024148.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8gw6ZVZA6bk/W5ljH0FY5tI/AAAAAAAAEsg/TQJM9wWNYA8iTalcO1ptTqJrIl3WH5QOACK4BGAYYCw/s400/20180908_024148.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That sounds familiar...</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-IU8fOq7rR_c/W5ljNVdfblI/AAAAAAAAEso/3Z2atiBarhIYDgB3Yo98qsiLLcXjtk6dgCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20180908_105620.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-IU8fOq7rR_c/W5ljNVdfblI/AAAAAAAAEso/3Z2atiBarhIYDgB3Yo98qsiLLcXjtk6dgCK4BGAYYCw/s400/20180908_105620.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Railway</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TBOz-qDn1mw/W5ljRamg9ZI/AAAAAAAAEsw/h5tG2pH70ZAwPv4BiYwf3kNLhZnKnj5wQCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20180908_115921.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TBOz-qDn1mw/W5ljRamg9ZI/AAAAAAAAEsw/h5tG2pH70ZAwPv4BiYwf3kNLhZnKnj5wQCK4BGAYYCw/s400/20180908_115921.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pool</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />We're on time leaving the gate, but then suffer the usual Easyjet traffic jam to the runway meaning we take off late. However, the fact they tell you an hours flight takes 90 minutes is exposed for the dirty lie it is when we land in the fair city of Glasgow bang on time an hour later. A couple of sherbets are obtained and we're on the way into Glasgow itself. In our transport, the driver naturally makes conversation asking why we're all in town. "Football" is of course the answer. "Oh, I thought yous was up for that Eggheads telly show! They film that here" he says. None of us are sure whether we should be offended by this or actually impressed he thought we looked like a clever bunch of televisual quiz masters. Oh shut your face.<br /><br />Checked in, we hit the town. Some of us are hungry, whilst others want pints. This proves harder than we assumed, as JR highly recommends the Sauchiehall Street area as being ideal for this. Sadly for him, pretty much everything is shut. At half 9 on a Friday evening. Evetually we find a spoons for the drinkers and we plump for a curry place almost opposite, before joining the others back in the pub after our scoff. Also in the gaff are Chalmers and his good lady, along with a couple of the Yoof. All we're missing is Mr X. But not for long! He went to Scotland v Belgium at Hampden, but as they're royally getting bent over he bails at 4-0 after an&nbsp; hour and has soon joined us for beers. Naturally, we're sympathetic to his distress!<br /><br />We have a couple here but time catches us up and like most places round here, the spoons closes at 11. So we head off down Sauchiehall Street looking for somewhere for a few more bevvies. Then it all unravels. Just as we're on the verge of giving up, a lass approaches Steve to persuade him to go into a place called 'Savoy'. And drinks are just £1.80 which of course, is something we're not remotely interested in. Fast forward three hours, it's gone half two, people are drinking red alcopops out of fish bowls whilst watching members of the Tartan Army shaking their stuff to various popular music track with a heavy dance beat over the top and we've just watched a geezer yak up in a corner by a fruity and then a member of staff appear to mop it up off the carpeted floor. It certainly explains why said carpet is so sticky I guess. Finally though we have a moment of clarity and head for home. So much for a couple of pints an a bit to eat. Fuck our lives. Tomorrow could be tough.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JuMqJA3VMrc/W5ljkPnyEiI/AAAAAAAAEtE/QWXvQErtoSU4cCubByGjWlhtRMlMS7REwCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20180908_130322.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JuMqJA3VMrc/W5ljkPnyEiI/AAAAAAAAEtE/QWXvQErtoSU4cCubByGjWlhtRMlMS7REwCK4BGAYYCw/s400/20180908_130322.jpg" width="193" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Where are we again?"</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fAM_qGEdvN0/W5ljlkssYDI/AAAAAAAAEtM/TDsV8pkwxHAKaj1tlZ83rwsTKF16NeVSgCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20180908_154444%25280%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fAM_qGEdvN0/W5ljlkssYDI/AAAAAAAAEtM/TDsV8pkwxHAKaj1tlZ83rwsTKF16NeVSgCK4BGAYYCw/s400/20180908_154444%25280%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stadium</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ri_HAhAaa6M/W5ljnTzA1eI/AAAAAAAAEtU/ipJRVXHCzGMzlQXituHLka0x0PnB2AYQgCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20180908_154802.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ri_HAhAaa6M/W5ljnTzA1eI/AAAAAAAAEtU/ipJRVXHCzGMzlQXituHLka0x0PnB2AYQgCK4BGAYYCw/s400/20180908_154802.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Is it a Pye? I hope it's a Pye!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />To make matters worse, Belly drops off before me and puts on a ferocious display of snoring. Never before have I heard someone snore with feedback. Now, normally, I'd just flip the mattress and break the noisy cycle, but as Dr Bell only had his hip done 2 months ago, I can't remember what side it was and I'm far too drunk to compute the physics that would ensure he fell on his 'good' side, I just put up with it until exhaustion takes over and I finally drift off.<br /><br />Needless to say, when I awake at 8 the following morning, I am far from well rested. Fortunately, there is no hangover to speak of so I get my arse downstairs for breakfast. Again I'm pressed for time as I'd stupidly agreed on Friday to speak to BBC Surrey this morning just before 9am. After scarfing down as much bacon as I can, the call comes through and after listening to Tina Turner for 5 mins and then a pre-recored interview with Dos, I'm on for all of about 90 seconds. Bastards! I could have had an extra half hour in bed!! The gang assembles and we set off for the train into Airdrie for opening time. Everyone's a little jaded on the walk and Steve mumbles about how much he'd love about a litre of sugary drink right now. And then as we turn a corner, salvation. There's a geezer giving away free bottles of Ribena. We must look minging as he spots us coming a mile off "Hangover cure lads?" he offes. Yes, dammit. Give us all of it. Now.<br /><br />We hit the train and apart from a couple of rancid alcopop fuelled farts, the trip out to Airdrie goes smoothly and shortly after 11, we're stumbling into 'Cue Here', a local pool hall whose owner had offered on the club forum to give us the run of the place along with some grub as well. As a bonus, there's a decent jukebox although the guvnor does take exception to some of JR's selections later in the day! We camp out here racking up the games of pool, feeding that jukebox and tucking into burgers supplied from the ktichen. The yoof join us not long after and a few other U's fans drift in as time passes, including some of those who've slogged up on the overnight National Express. Which personally I'd rather remove my ginger balls with a shitty, rusty knife than endure, so fair play to them. They are all far hardier types than I. Come 2pm, we rustle up a fleet of sherbets and head for the ground. Time to get our game faces on!<br /><br /><b><i>Worner, Thomas, Beckwith, Collins, Bolawinra, Bailey, W.Brown, Beautyman, Wright, Wishart, Taylor SUBS: Davis, Eastmond, Cadogan, Drinan, Ayunga, S.Brown.</i></b><br /><b><i><br /></i></b><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-oFTJHIzNmeU/W5ljqLFwgLI/AAAAAAAAEtc/naJm5Qtcj149TFHHuycK60PtKTFSMRs4wCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20180908_165314.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-oFTJHIzNmeU/W5ljqLFwgLI/AAAAAAAAEtc/naJm5Qtcj149TFHHuycK60PtKTFSMRs4wCK4BGAYYCw/s400/20180908_165314.jpg" width="193" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First Class</td></tr></tbody></table><b><i><br /></i></b><b><i><br /></i></b><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-J88cABNn-ho/W5ljr6FM4sI/AAAAAAAAEtk/3TIc64eiIP8M4DRbNH5i6pdZyLdET34dQCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20180908_171633.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-J88cABNn-ho/W5ljr6FM4sI/AAAAAAAAEtk/3TIc64eiIP8M4DRbNH5i6pdZyLdET34dQCK4BGAYYCw/s400/20180908_171633.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">PIES!</td></tr></tbody></table><b><i><br /></i></b><b><i><br /></i></b><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Lrez4Ju97ME/W5lj0SFfPeI/AAAAAAAAEtw/z7297GyR9fQfNc4eKDlr9C6Fezyu7ViugCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20180908_174352.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="110" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Lrez4Ju97ME/W5lj0SFfPeI/AAAAAAAAEtw/z7297GyR9fQfNc4eKDlr9C6Fezyu7ViugCK4BGAYYCw/s400/20180908_174352.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Panoramaramama</td></tr></tbody></table><b><i><br /></i></b><br />Having said hello to a few familiar faces outside and sorted a programme, I leave the rest of the gang to their pre-match snifter to get in and get the flag sorted. There looks to be decent representation in from South London for this one and we give the lads a warm welcome out of the tunnel and pre kick off, they pop over to give us all a wave and a clap. And I should fucking think so an'all, it's about an 890 mile round trip for this lunacy! The game itself is what you'd probably call a 'slow burner' and we'd call 'a bit fucking dull to start with'. Both sides seem to be feeling each other out, which given our complete unfamiliarity with each other is probably no surprise. We still create the first chance of the game a few mins in with the surprisingly fit again Bailey puts in a free kick that Beck nuts straight at the keeper. The hosts no.11 looks about their best player, but it's typicall a fuck up from us that gives them their best chance of the half about 15 in when Aswad manages to fall over his own feet out on the touchline about 30 yards out from our goal. He also helpfully prods the ball into the path of the oncoming oppo striker who races in and fires across Worner and wide of the far post.<br /><br />Things go a bit better after 20 minutes when we clear a Airdrie corner out to Tombo. He turns and clips the ball forwards and Tommy Wright sets off in pursuit. He outfoxes the chasing centreback, makes himself some space and rifles a low one across the keeper into the far corner. <b>1-0!</b> Blimey, we're only fucking winning in Europe!! After this, the game again largely drops into a fairly competitive but largely uneventful pattern. Airdrie force a save from Worns not far before the break but we manage to see it out to the whistle and disappear down the tunnel still a goal to the good. Speaking of disappearing, I make it Scotch Pie o'clock! Down on the concourse, Mr X is ahead of me in the queue and orders his sustenance from the lasses behind the jump "Scotch pie and a cuppa tea please love". The pie appears and is joined by a popular brand of orange drink which comes in a foil bag. "What's that?" enquires the bemused man of mystery. "You said a Capri Sun!?" protests the young lady serving. "Yeah, I heard Capri Sun too!" adds a colleague. Clearly, despite his tartan ancestry, X is far more Mockney than Jockney these days. Unlucky mate!<br /><br />From the restart, we really should see the game off. Taylor surges from deep, goes past a couple of oppo and weaves into the box, but with the goal at his mercy, he seems caught in two minds and skews a shot just wide of the far post. Not long after, Tommy nearly does it again buzzing around the big centre backs, he breaks forward and once more having made space for the shot, forces a good one handed save from the keeper down to his right. From here, whilst we can never quite put our feet up, we largely keep the hosts at arms length. Their best opportunities come from a close range header at the back post that the bloke powers just over when he really should do a lot better and a last ditch save from Worns after a bloke is given the freedom of the 6 yard box to attempt some acrobatic effort. In between, the ref is wonderfully National League and dishes out a few moody yellows, but the best is the lino beneath us who awards us a throw in for Cadogan clearly knocking the ball out of play right in front of him, to the great amusement of the away support. We see out the win though and the final whistle is greeted with great delight by the 101 U's fans in the corner of the stand. Fuck me, we're on a run in Europe lads!<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fed1nKqcKBg/W5lkCMjmM-I/AAAAAAAAEuE/fqLfANXqyqcM2Aeh9HsC7gTPMfnqDIQSwCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20180908_214605.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fed1nKqcKBg/W5lkCMjmM-I/AAAAAAAAEuE/fqLfANXqyqcM2Aeh9HsC7gTPMfnqDIQSwCK4BGAYYCw/s400/20180908_214605.jpg" width="193" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oh for fucks sake</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bls1Ej2F4Tg/W5lkC4Kh96I/AAAAAAAAEuM/nwVKPsyQsu4a7Oj8Wv7LdZGaULFKE6RewCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20180909_020811.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bls1Ej2F4Tg/W5lkC4Kh96I/AAAAAAAAEuM/nwVKPsyQsu4a7Oj8Wv7LdZGaULFKE6RewCK4BGAYYCw/s400/20180909_020811.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Late night gin n' crisps session</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PVpfzDuTpAY/W5lkEXXIyXI/AAAAAAAAEuU/hmsK6VUqrugtNbGHQhuGjCtrzqe9SDDUwCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20180909_131007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PVpfzDuTpAY/W5lkEXXIyXI/AAAAAAAAEuU/hmsK6VUqrugtNbGHQhuGjCtrzqe9SDDUwCK4BGAYYCw/s400/20180909_131007.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That's what I like...</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />We pack up and hit the cosy bar downstairs for a post match livener. Here we find that we've made history as not only the first English side to score in this comp, but the first one to reach the last 16 as Boreham Wood have drawn 0-0 and gone out on pens to Dunfermline. Elsewhere, favourites Dundee United have also lost on pens. As we enjoy our drink a huge crate of unsold pies are dumped on our table. "Help yersels!" the lady says. Don't mind if we do! We can't stop long though as they're soon clearing the place up for an incoming wedding reception, so we say our goodbyes and hit the road, meeting the team coming the other way from the local corner shop laden with cans and snacks for their coach trip to Edinburgh and flight home. The marvellous athletic specimens that they are! We wish them a safe trip and set out for a pub we'd been suggested, but it turns out to be a far longer walk than described, so we simply stop off at the first place we come to, a gaff called the Albert. It's pretty busy and a lively crowd is enjoying some Saturday evening scoops. Over a quick beer we're made to feel very welcome and end up chatting with various locals about the game and god knows what else. Sadly, though we have to move on and depart for the West End bar nearer the station to meet up with Dougie, a mate of Steve's and also Aridrie's commercial manager.<br /><br />Finally we find the West End and here begins another load of interaction with locals who seem impressed with our ability to get on a plane &amp; fly to Scotland to watch shit football. The chatter flows as freely as the beer and the beer flows very freely indeed, it seems that the two clubs boards have got on famously today pre-match and there's already talk of trying to get them down to ours for a PSF next summer. We quickly make friends with our committed 'Against Sober Football' stance, so much so that towards the end of the evening, Dougie and at least two other Diamonds have expressed an interest of heading to Hartlepool to see our game there at the end of October. Suckers. If only we were as good at talking people out of their money as we were at getting them to buy us pints and join us in grim North Eastern towns to get pissed up and watch 5th tier football, we'd be fucking millionaires. As much fun as this is though, time sadly eventually beats us and with a train due shortly, we finally bid our new friends goodbye and decamp back to Glasgow.<br /><br />Steve and I are the last to leave, but oddly, the first onto the platform at Airdrie. Where are those idiots? Ah yes, it's a train journey of more than 10 mins duration. They'll have buggered off to the nearest offy for cans. And then some. They stumble into the carriage with a couple of minutes to departure with 4 packs of Tennents and 3 bottles of Buckfast. I think we can all see where this is heading can't we? The cans and half the Buckfast fails to survive the trip and we alight at Queen Street still with a thirst on. Right, time to ditch unwanted crap and get back on it! A quick stop at the hotel and a squirt of smelly and it's back out to the spoons by the Station where we find COCs Malc &amp; Keepo, club treasurer Oakesy, Amber Aleman and various other Sutton faces including Gandermonium tat regular Mr Kim the Railway Boy. We're also joined here by Magnum PI, who'd skipped off at full time to head back into town and take out some lass he'd met back in Euston after the Macc away day last season and who lived up this way! We manage to sink a couple of pints before we're again being kicked out into the night air ridiculously early. A spoons? Closing at 12? Absurd. Anyone would think Scotland had a serious alcohol problem and they were trying to resolve it with draconian opening hours!<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YeF9r4L6UEA/W5lkILcMCcI/AAAAAAAAEuc/T8hVrguGwgIZEB99CJ6wtgYQGtA9gIkJwCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20180909_131719.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YeF9r4L6UEA/W5lkILcMCcI/AAAAAAAAEuc/T8hVrguGwgIZEB99CJ6wtgYQGtA9gIkJwCK4BGAYYCw/s400/20180909_131719.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rain? In Scotland? As if!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TnJVZcwoKKA/W5lkJTh81eI/AAAAAAAAEuk/ZaI4yn8Q1fQB7AbItpWwLmZsCUg_LrqEgCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20180909_132858.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TnJVZcwoKKA/W5lkJTh81eI/AAAAAAAAEuk/ZaI4yn8Q1fQB7AbItpWwLmZsCUg_LrqEgCK4BGAYYCw/s400/20180909_132858.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lesser Hampden</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-A5z-czwXNtk/W5lkKw8JyMI/AAAAAAAAEus/Obif5s11VfYiDxjoM1RIq5ayiXHxxe0xwCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20180909_133912.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-A5z-czwXNtk/W5lkKw8JyMI/AAAAAAAAEus/Obif5s11VfYiDxjoM1RIq5ayiXHxxe0xwCK4BGAYYCw/s400/20180909_133912.jpg" width="193" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mr X's tears from Friday</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />We're recommended a gaff up past the station by one of the bouncers and set out for a late drink. Some of us make a quick stop for chips and soon JR &amp; Keepo re-appear. It seems the late night gaff is a blow out as there's a huge queue and the rest of the party have set out for Pop World instead. The rest of us can't be arsed to go traipsing across Glasgow and would just prefer to sit somewhere and just booze quietly. We head back towards the hotel where keepo reveals he has a bag of M&amp;S gin and tonics from the journey up unused, so we hatch a plan to commandeer the now closed hotel bar and drink those whilst talking shite. Whilst recovering his stash, we're rudely interrupted by Robbo coming to the door of his room across the corridor in his jim jams. So I take the opportunity to fart through his open door and we disappear off down the corridor giggling like schoolchildren, leaving a disgusted Robbo to deal with the noxious cloud I'd just directed into his room.<br /><br />Eventually, we decide to call it a night around 3 and I return to my room hoping to have beaten Dr Bell to the punch, sadly, I've failed and he's sat in his pants preparing for bed himself having returned from a night in 'Club Tropicana' with the B-Team. And apparently, drinks were most definitely not free.<br /><br />With two 3am crashes in a row, sleeping in on the Sunday is definitely on the cards and I finally haul myself out of my pit around 10 for a much needed poo. Still, it makes room for breakfast! It's then off to Spoons to reassemble with the party and find out what idiocy transpired in our absence last night. Over much needed food, we find out that the planned for tour at Hampden is out as they're apparently closed today, with Steve reckoning it might be to do with either Scotland or Albania training there before the Nations League game tomorrow night. Shame, but no matter, we'll go for a nose around anyway! Mr X leaves us as this point as he's on a lunchtime flight back as he has to start his new job in the flaps industry in the morning. Loser. We head back to check out and then once more set off into the wilds of Glasgow for some football geeking. A train takes myself, Dukey, Magnum PI and Steve a couple of stops south to Mount Flo Rida, although no one seems to know why the nearest stop to the National Stadium is named after an American Rapper, let alone why you'd want to mount him. As we disembark, we're just clearing the cover of the platform and about to leave the station when a massive downpour suddenly erupts and sends us scurrying like hungover non-league rats back to the shelter. A sudden monsoon like downpour? In Scotland? What are the odds?<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0wBahfG6MQ0/W5lkNgF1aeI/AAAAAAAAEu0/jBjtGeY6zI4EGqcIqixM50pEWrq0lnX4wCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20180909_135604.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0wBahfG6MQ0/W5lkNgF1aeI/AAAAAAAAEu0/jBjtGeY6zI4EGqcIqixM50pEWrq0lnX4wCK4BGAYYCw/s400/20180909_135604.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That wasn't us right....</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tOAueL4PZZU/W5lkUHf7FHI/AAAAAAAAEvA/Oeh1YuKO5ZwctwxdU3TdKKaAX50TJaa-QCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20180909_135846.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tOAueL4PZZU/W5lkUHf7FHI/AAAAAAAAEvA/Oeh1YuKO5ZwctwxdU3TdKKaAX50TJaa-QCK4BGAYYCw/s400/20180909_135846.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Spooky</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vPKxQ17hZbA/W5lkvAKy07I/AAAAAAAAEvg/1J_WrMSOrcwx_cfwB_jGyH6RM0plliXqQCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20180909_141315.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vPKxQ17hZbA/W5lkvAKy07I/AAAAAAAAEvg/1J_WrMSOrcwx_cfwB_jGyH6RM0plliXqQCK4BGAYYCw/s400/20180909_141315.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Old terraces</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />After fifteen minutes huddled together, we're finally able to emerge from cover and begin our mission and having sidestepped what the locals might call 'a wee jobbie' on the steps off the platform, we're soon on the way down to Hampden Park. As we approach the ground, there's the unmistakable sound of a game of fitba underway in the damp lunchtime air. It turns out that next to the big gaff, is a smaller ground. Lesser Hampden. And it's here that Queens Park's other teams play their games, the one making all the racket looks to be their under 12's or 13's taking on someone or other. With only the one game to see this weekend, we stop and take in a few minutes of the action whilst we of course grab some pics of the place. Although it doesn't seem to come up in the Groundhopper app, so no one gets a tick! After a while, we leave them to it whilst we case the big joint next door. This is important work as Queens Park had dumped out TNS on pens last night, so we could feasibly be heading up here again in the next round! Having got some pics and stuck up some stickers, we head out in search of somewhere I've wanted to visit for a very long time. Cathkin Park. The former home of Third Lanark, a club that went bust in 1967 just six years after finishing third in the SFL behind Rangers and Kilmarnock, scoring 100 goals in the process. Their ground stood empty &amp; derelict for many years before the stand was removed and the place became a municipal park. But on three sides, largely overgrown with trees, the old banked terracing remains. I've seen so many pictures of this place over the years and had always wanted to see for myself and here we are. It's an odd experience, standing in the middle of a park pitch (Sunday teams still play here!) looking at terraces around you that once formed a stadium that held 50,000 people. Incredible. It's also surprisingly peaceful despite being in a residential area and with a main road running behind it. Very eriee.<br /><br />With photos taken and geeking done, we head back for the train into Glasgow and after parking up in Waxy O'Connors for a pint and some food, we finally head back to the hotel to regroup and head for the airport. With everyone assembled, we rustle up some Ubers and we're on our way. The journey for myself, JR and Dukey is a little tense, as halfway there on the motorway, the bloke's car starts beeping loudly. After a while, I spot the cause. On his dash display, the ominous warning "Engine failure. Stop vehicle" is flashing up every time it beeps loudly. Oh shit! The driver tuts a few times when he notices the same thing, but just ploughs on leaving us wondering if we're going to be shortly stuck on the hard shoulder waiting for the AA or encountering a big firey death. Fortunately, we survive and upon alighting at the airport, I give the driver a big tip. "Don't buy a fucking Peugeot next time!". We park up in spoons for one last livener and await our flight whilst we check out the Scottish press for signs of our big win yesterday. Sadly the best we can manage is two mentions. The rest is about Scotland's bumming on Friday and the Old Firm, despite the fact neither were actually playing.<br /><br />Annoyingly, our flight is delayed, then when we do get a gate and wander down, it's delayed some more. And then a bit more. It seems that something on the aircraft is no longer functioning and we're waiting for an engineer to fix it. I refrain from asking if they've tried turning it off and then back on again. Mainly as I'm not getting paid for it. Eventually though, just as we've about accepted life in our new country and started looking up house prices in Airdrie, we're told that we can at last leave, just the 2 and a half hours late. So that means sleep before work tomorrow will be at a premium and we can't get any compo from EasyJet as the delay wasn't over 3 hours. Joy.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-e6v1s3VX_lk/W5lk2IDuvVI/AAAAAAAAEvo/OalF09dJYXUzoideGVlQqrns4G8sgJftQCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20180909_150525.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-e6v1s3VX_lk/W5lk2IDuvVI/AAAAAAAAEvo/OalF09dJYXUzoideGVlQqrns4G8sgJftQCK4BGAYYCw/s400/20180909_150525.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sightseeing</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--rGgOSUZMjc/W5lk3r0LuzI/AAAAAAAAEvw/lPJ4PlBTVdQAsxLs6qtdxhkCdbChdBodgCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20180909_212957.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/--rGgOSUZMjc/W5lk3r0LuzI/AAAAAAAAEvw/lPJ4PlBTVdQAsxLs6qtdxhkCdbChdBodgCK4BGAYYCw/s400/20180909_212957.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Finally!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OYHZbi4bdQ8/W5lk5Y2R62I/AAAAAAAAEv4/dlnI9jhC1w4oOZaonkUaE_yomHD-55ROgCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20180909_231808.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OYHZbi4bdQ8/W5lk5Y2R62I/AAAAAAAAEv4/dlnI9jhC1w4oOZaonkUaE_yomHD-55ROgCK4BGAYYCw/s400/20180909_231808.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Home soil</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />Back at Gatwick, the race is on to get a reasonably timed train back to East Croydon. Fortunately most of us make it, although some have a narrow escape when some bellend hits the emergency stop on the escalator down to the platform sending people and luggage flying. Still, the train is on time and having said our goodbyes at East Croydon, I call up yet another sherbet to get me back to HQ, as I'll be fucked if I'm waiting the 20 minutes for a bus. It's at about this point, tired and starting to feel the effects of two days solid boozing that I'm almost starting to hope for a home draw in the next round.<br /><br />Like fuck. It's Bohemians away next. In fucking Dublin! Yes, Ha'penny Bridge, top o'the mornin', Roddy Doyle, pints of Guinness &amp; Leprechauns Dublin. The one in Ireland. That one. Liver failure and or bankruptcy awaits.<br /><br />Fuck it, we're on a run in Europe!<br /><br />Taz<br /><br />Tazhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13058062784601238593noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9211878954912175436.post-64495699408592855192018-09-05T16:30:00.000+01:002018-09-16T16:52:35.663+01:00Ruttin' in the AlleyThis is a bit suss ain't it? Playing a third re-formed, ex-league club in a row? And yes, before you all start writing in with your letters, telegrams or Carrier Pigeons, I know that Airdrie is also a re-formed club as well. But still, is there a connection really, or am I just trying to create some sort of nonsensical story arc in order to flesh out the blog a bit? Hmmm...<br /><br /><a name='more'></a>Wasn't it nice of Taz to cover all of Saturday's actions on and off the pitch? Not even a crumb of anything that I could use and elaborate on. The git probably had time to get himself on a foreign podcast as well. Except there was one thing he missed, I have a tiny small confession to make. Yes I did end up watching Celebrity Big Brother at five o'clock in the morning. I couldn't recognise any of the bleedin' buggers mind you. I blame Ipswich Lee, the other grass. But yes, I have a problem and I will seeking solace and help in a far off place for a couple of days. Glasgow perhaps.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eN9HVsq7A70/W5EyhjnJJFI/AAAAAAAAFdI/Z1eDXPwAakIT0flih7_3qLkgV-7hNFTHQCEwYBhgL/s1600/WP_20180904_031.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eN9HVsq7A70/W5EyhjnJJFI/AAAAAAAAFdI/Z1eDXPwAakIT0flih7_3qLkgV-7hNFTHQCEwYBhgL/s400/WP_20180904_031.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The eyesight of Dr Bell these days...</td></tr></tbody></table><br />So let's face it, the only disappointment on Saturday, other than what dropped out of Mr X's arse, and that was a <i>proper</i> smoke bomb I can tell you, was the football once again. But we dust ourselves off, try to find our shorts and crack on because we have another game to get along with. So it's back to the Gallagher and our fellow Conference South boys, Maidstone no less.<br /><br />As is always the case with these little midweek trips, Mr X volunteered to take us in the "Unity Mitford". Even The Firm Leader was getting in on the action and it was eventually arranged for me to be picked up at home at five o'clock. Obviously they were bloody late, but it's a lift, so one can't complain in these matters. Well I do all the time to be honest, but no one listens.<br /><br />A simple journey soon follows. Work your way to the M25, either via the A217 or A23. You can then laugh at all the people that are held up by the traffic going south towards Gatwick, before praying that it doesn't happen to you also. Hop onto the M26 and before you know it, you're on the M20 and on the outskirts of Maidstone. Simples! Or you could just get the train down from town with a few cans like a few of the Firm.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-RVXOphR2LK4/W5EyLgNz4fI/AAAAAAAAFdA/zHg6Fq2ZSNU9EnRn5XNPb47iSI3JO0tvwCEwYBhgL/s1600/WP_20180904_001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-RVXOphR2LK4/W5EyLgNz4fI/AAAAAAAAFdA/zHg6Fq2ZSNU9EnRn5XNPb47iSI3JO0tvwCEwYBhgL/s400/WP_20180904_001.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rooms of Society, got it...</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Arriving at Maidstone East Station, we elect to head straight to the 'Spoons. Well, it is the closest pub to us on the way to the ground after all. And what is it they say? So The Duke can't moan about the prices either! There are plenty of known boats all over the joint already when we arrive and we settle down for a cheeky few. While nursing a orange &amp; lemonade, Mr X decides to have a spot food. "I'm not going to have a burger, Definitely not will I be having a burger, no way am I going to have a burger...". He had a burger.<br /><br />A few more faces turn up and we manage to squeeze in another pint as The Firm Leader heads for a cheeky MacDonald's. Which according to him, was in no way over-seasoned. You hear that Taz? Not over-seasoned!&nbsp;With the time quickly past seven and we're still waiting to find out what the actual team was going to be for the night. Absolutely nothing coming through from Twatter. Ten minutes before kick-off we finally get the team line-up after Taz nicks a picture of someone's team sheet.<br /><br />Drinan, Bolarinwa &amp; Davis have been dropped and they've been replaced with Ayunga, Beautyman &amp; Taylor. Outside just before the entrance, we finish of our cigarettes (more no smoking ground bollocks) before being <strike>felt up</strike> searched by the stewards. People had their bags searched and everything. Blimey lads, you afraid someone might smuggle in a smoke bomb or something? A nice £15 entrance fee and we find our spot on the end of big stand. And they had separate sex bogs. It was also nice to see that maybe all the kids that were baiting us last time were not going to be around. Guess they were having an early night as they were just back at school.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-m1gGJY_-3oI/W5EyNtftx0I/AAAAAAAAFdE/v3bBUvLV3VAA6IAbC0Ok-8-Z1AVpUT-wACEwYBhgL/s1600/WP_20180904_004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-m1gGJY_-3oI/W5EyNtftx0I/AAAAAAAAFdE/v3bBUvLV3VAA6IAbC0Ok-8-Z1AVpUT-wACEwYBhgL/s400/WP_20180904_004.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hey James! Yeah What Man?</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><b><i>Butler, Bennett, Beckwith, Clough, Lafayette, Ayunga, Eastmond, Brown, Beautyman, Wishart, Taylor. Bench Warmers: Thomas, Bolarinwa, Davis, Wright, Drinan.</i></b><br /><b><i><br /></i></b>Compared to Saturday, Sutton started so much more brightly. Eastmond had our first chance of the night after picking the ball up from a wayward Maidstone header and tested Lee "it wasn't my fault" Worgan with a dipping effort outside of the box. Soon after, a shout of "Go on Jonah!" was heard. And for a second I thought that they were referring to that fella out of that book that was left by a bloke called Gideon in my last hotel room.<br /><br />Ten minutes in and Sutton take the lead. It's Wishart who lays the ball out wide to Ayunga. He crosses the ball deep into the six yard box. Lafayette is the first to reach it and knocks the ball past Worgan at the near post. <b>1-0!&nbsp;</b>From my view at the back of the terrace, I think its gone wide but thankfully I was wrong. By this point Maidstone are struggling like a team that have recently seen their manager, Colonel Saunders, depart recently.<br /><br />Maidstone's best spell of the half came in the closing stages. First it was a lofted free kick that seemed to evade everyone as it bounced out for a goal kick just past the far post. Minutes later, and it was none other that <strike>Loser</strike> Loza who cut in on Bennett, after he'd already been booked for a take down, and then skipped past Beckwith, but luckily his shot was weak and didn't particularly bother Butler.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Q8C2ly5mTbA/W5EyPWK52kI/AAAAAAAAFdI/3DZME1e2FB8OOTLa7MXpHhjoQVngTj38wCEwYBhgL/s1600/WP_20180904_007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Q8C2ly5mTbA/W5EyPWK52kI/AAAAAAAAFdI/3DZME1e2FB8OOTLa7MXpHhjoQVngTj38wCEwYBhgL/s400/WP_20180904_007.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The "I don't know why I took that" photo...</td></tr></tbody></table><br />At the break and I'm collared into the half time round. Well you can't leave the ground to even smoke. Luckily though, it's just me and The Firm Leader as Mr X is chauffeur for the night. And thank fuck for that, because two pints of bog-standard cider were £8! I think this year Maidstone might take our crown as the most expensive pint in the division.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1_S2VHphQ50/W5Eyfr5vcHI/AAAAAAAAFc8/n90h-N6n2VUSIMKEaMjfWsk83VzEVpdEwCEwYBhgL/s1600/WP_20180904_029.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1_S2VHphQ50/W5Eyfr5vcHI/AAAAAAAAFc8/n90h-N6n2VUSIMKEaMjfWsk83VzEVpdEwCEwYBhgL/s400/WP_20180904_029.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Genco?&nbsp; As in a front for the Corleone family?</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Second half and Maidstone start the brighter. A bit more possession, but Butler is rarely troubled. Nearly ten minutes in, Maidstone rock the woodwork. The fella must've been twenty-five yards out and his shot rooted Butler to the floor as it ricochets off the bar. In the aftermath of players trying to get the ball, the Maidstone captain is penalised for a foul. And bearing in mind he's already been in the book and had a final-final warning he gets..another final waning! Fuck sake, these refs.<br /><br />Substitutions are made with Davis &amp; Wright coming on for Brown &amp; Ayunga. Soon after Drinan is the final throw of the dice as he replaces Lafayette. A surprise sub for some as it appeared that Eastmond was properly blowing out of his arse at this point. But Maidstone already appeared to have run out of ideas and the fresh legs for the Sutton boys helps us largely see things out.<br /><br />Last few minutes and Drinan is given a opportunity to kill the match we he receives an unexpected clearance inside the Maidstone box. Unfortunately his shot is aimed right at Worgan and he manages to save with his legs. Soon after the ref finally blows his whistle. The Sutton fans celebrate, some a little too much it seems, as a smoke bomb is let off just behind us. Yes a smoke bomb and not a flare as one man claimed as he accused some of us more mature supporters of having sparked it.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-QGlDw4jkwNA/W5EyhOWYCII/AAAAAAAAFdA/PmC4VefcT6sY6UKTqSbHsnsWhoIOGBSnwCEwYBhgL/s1600/WP_20180904_030.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-QGlDw4jkwNA/W5EyhOWYCII/AAAAAAAAFdA/PmC4VefcT6sY6UKTqSbHsnsWhoIOGBSnwCEwYBhgL/s400/WP_20180904_030.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Maidstone love train...</td></tr></tbody></table><br />After the match and seeing the irate steward being told to "calm down!" by the local plod on the way out, it's the short walk back to the cars at station. With everyone sorted we're back on the road. Checking the other scores and it seems that we've moved back into the play-offs. And more surprising is that we're only three points off the top! That'll change come Saturday though.<br /><br />In about the space of an hour we've gone from Maidstone East Station to a drop off near the infamous Butterchurn, and past the only supposedly known location of an attempted car jacking (according to Mr X that is) to arriving back at Chateaux Duke. You gotta love getting in before the clock strikes twelve from a midweek away game.<br /><br />We now move onto another international adventure for Gandermonium. Obviously, someone else has straight away claimed blogging rights for that one. Anyone would think he runs the fuckin' gaff. Still, it leaves me to do what we do best. Drink, drink and more drink. As I write, some of the Firm are even already there as part of an 'advanced party'. But you'll just have to wait to find out what happened. I imagine three days on the <strike>piss</strike> road won't take long to write up at all....<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dXHqJisXqg4/W5EyfeFcYzI/AAAAAAAAFdI/yAvmbrJEbgYL9XCPN82sIF82nDRwb67RgCEwYBhgL/s1600/WP_20180904_028.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dXHqJisXqg4/W5EyfeFcYzI/AAAAAAAAFdI/yAvmbrJEbgYL9XCPN82sIF82nDRwb67RgCEwYBhgL/s400/WP_20180904_028.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Another great Maidstone view...</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Duke<br />Att. 1838<br /><br />Dukehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15782806444120070028noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9211878954912175436.post-65135037129411316332018-09-02T21:35:00.001+01:002018-09-02T21:36:29.816+01:00Flat BatteriesNow, normally for these things we'd fill in this part with some sort of pre-amble bollocks that has a vague connection to what then follows. Well, sometimes at least. It's mostly just rambling rubbish designed to pad the piece out and make us look like we've put some thought or genuine effort into it all. Well, this week, I have confession to make. I got nothing. Zero. Nada. Not a Sausage. Yeah, sorry about that.<br /><br /><a name='more'></a>There's a couple of little reasons for this, but the main one though is that I pretty much forgot I was on duty for today and after a busy week, by the time Dukey half reminded me on the Friday evening the grey matter had long since clocked off and I was left with no lead in, no filler, nothing. Well, except this bullshit I've just made you plough through for a couple of paragraphs. Now usually in these cases you'd hope for a real humdinger of a match, especially as we're welcoming the current league leaders, to give you some nice material to paper over the cracks. Yeah, chance would be a fine fucking thing. But more (or less) of that later.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CWQ7R61oCec/W4w2NsDovCI/AAAAAAAAEpw/jmqlCKsu_XEuvHzTsK6Hn5sQ28yRBx5wQCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20180901_121758.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CWQ7R61oCec/W4w2NsDovCI/AAAAAAAAEpw/jmqlCKsu_XEuvHzTsK6Hn5sQ28yRBx5wQCK4BGAYYCw/s400/20180901_121758.jpg" width="195" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Still lucky! Sort of....</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />With no chores or errands required on the Saturday morning, I did what I always do for a home game and simply stayed stinking in my pit until well gone 10. No whilst this meant I was at least well rested for what remained of the day ahead, I also meant that my descision on what attire to venture out in was based purely on a quick look out the window. Big mistake. Whilst it looked sunny, I let the last few days influence my choice and I stuck on some jeans and a training top over the lucky Forres Mechanics shirt. Bad move. As I go for the bus, I'm quickly sweating my cods off. The walk to GGL from Sutton in a while will be a treat!<br /><br />On arrival in Sutton, it's the usual two step of draw money and head for Greggs to get a nibble for the walk down to the Republic. Here I encounter my second fail of the day. They have no baguette sandwiches that don't contain foodstuffs likely to end up all down the front of me whilst being eaten on the move, so I instead aim for a sausage roll. There's 4 left so I'm sorted. Er, no. Somehow, having been at the head of the queue and ordering first, all 4 tasty pastry treats are somehow snapped up by the lass behind me. Fucks sake. No mate, it's fine, I'll just take the bottle of Ribena cheers.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-M0w-A-9zT1I/W4w2UiJX8qI/AAAAAAAAEp4/nsfVD0eGBagvLyBokbXXMPD6SEZQJhRDgCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20180901_130836.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-M0w-A-9zT1I/W4w2UiJX8qI/AAAAAAAAEp4/nsfVD0eGBagvLyBokbXXMPD6SEZQJhRDgCK4BGAYYCw/s400/20180901_130836.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Approaching paradise</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />I walk into the bar suitably sweaty and take a moment to enjoy the air con in the back bar, then I wander into the back and find Mr X already present and nursing what looks suspiciously like a J20. It would seem that his works leaving do the previous night was suitably refreshing. So much so that he takes a good 45 minutes to clear 1/3 of his first pint. A few other faces wander in, including Irish Pete who we've not seen in these parts for a while since he made the step into fatherhood. This and the arrival of Greek leads us to get a further story from last Saturday's session in O'Niells where one of Pete's colleagues he was out for a pint with guessed that Greek was 45 years of age! Combined with one of the COC's missus asking him earlier that day if he was gay, it's safe to say this Saturday can only get better for the Mediterranean chap. Well, if we don't spend it taking the piss out of him that is.<br /><br />Elsewhere, Mr X's bad day gets worse as he gives 4 Days 2 quid to load up the jukebox only to realise after that the batteries in the remote are flat and we can't turn the fecker up above "Bloke sitting next to you on the train's headphones" volume. Sweet.<br /><br /><b><i>Butler, Beckwith, Bennett, Clough, Bolawinra, Davis, Lafayette, Eastmond, Brown, Wishart, Drinan SUBS: Thomas, Cadogan, Beautyman, Wright, Taylor&nbsp;</i></b><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-HJnGLeKslOI/W4w2V8SFAnI/AAAAAAAAEqA/7bOB7MrQkLsXzBhh4EVIh_6E0rvMCEqyACK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20180901_141508.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-HJnGLeKslOI/W4w2V8SFAnI/AAAAAAAAEqA/7bOB7MrQkLsXzBhh4EVIh_6E0rvMCEqyACK4BGAYYCw/s400/20180901_141508.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">As much life as a Carshalton home game...</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />Ah yes. The football. Remember what I said earlier about having a cracking game to write about to make up for my lack of imagination? That'll be a no. The first half is pretty dour stuff. They're marginally on top and cause us a couple of problems. Their best effort being a cracking first time lamp from a dropping ball that pings back off the post with Butler beaten. Ours? A Charlie Clough effort curled a yard wide from about 20 yards, mainly as it's our only shot. The front 3 just doesn't work with Tombo getting no ball, Drinan largely isolated out left and Lafayette not winning much in the air or holding the ball up. And it's not like he doesn't have plenty of opportunity as we spend the first 45 minutes largely bashing it from back to front. Their 14 proves to be a bit of a prick during the half, as when directed to give the ball back to us from a stoppage, he petulantly lamps it into touch a few yards up the line. Cheers fella.<br /><br />Once again, the real highlights of the half comes from the terrace chatter, this time Dukey informing us that whilst enjoying a pre-match livener in the Spoons, the local Plod came in and enquired if "Any Halifax fans had been in". "Nope" says the barman "They're all down at the Grapes", an establishment which if you know your Sutton public houses, you'd know has been shut now for nearly a month. It seems the local five-oh don't however and they toddled off without protest.<br /><br />The other big incident is Robbo discussing the 'no standing at the barrier' rule for the Rec End with the steward on duty for most of the half. He later put it to me as "I fought the law and I won!". Bless. And yes, the football really was that dull.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8sAIE0lrtpY/W4w2XwWSq_I/AAAAAAAAEqI/bQ4jCNWU5-4B1p2Qwhg02ge_1X9YggkaACK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20180901_145806.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8sAIE0lrtpY/W4w2XwWSq_I/AAAAAAAAEqI/bQ4jCNWU5-4B1p2Qwhg02ge_1X9YggkaACK4BGAYYCw/s400/20180901_145806.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Conversing</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />Second half, there's a bit more structure and we're certainly involved a little more constructively. But there's still far too much aimless lump for my taste. Still, with the visitors looking unlikely to break the deadlock and us not exactly setting the world alight either, my money would have been on a 2nd straight 0-0. However, around the hour mark, Easty busrsts from midfield and is hauled down just before the 18 yard line. Kenny Davis steps up for the free-kick and it takes a nick off a defender on it's way in which beats the keeper. 1-0! Blimey, we're winning! Not for long though. Several minutes later, we lose the ball from a throw in, they break and we allow their man far too much time on the edge of the box to collect, turn and compose himself for the shot which seems to catch Butler by surprise and beats him down to his right.<br /><br />Dos brings on Wright, Taylor and Cadogan to try &amp; inject a bit of life into proceedings, but despite finishing brightly, we have to settle for another home point in the end. Right, back to the bar. We've wasted enough VDT with this tosh as it is!<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-w6GDVvxMUAc/W4w2d61inOI/AAAAAAAAEqg/sNyRkesvEh0ACJMY1b6X_YePGr9lUYeIACK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20180901_160332.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-w6GDVvxMUAc/W4w2d61inOI/AAAAAAAAEqg/sNyRkesvEh0ACJMY1b6X_YePGr9lUYeIACK4BGAYYCw/s400/20180901_160332.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Look, it's this or more pics of the game. We're doing you a favour...</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />Post match, it's my round and this is now a complicated affair by the fact that we've got some people wanting beverages from the traditional outlet as well as some cheap bottles from what has been nicknamed 'the pool bar', which is basically Kiddo knocking out Fosters and Bulmers at 2 bottles for £4 from atop the pool table. Pain in the arse and no mistake. With plenty of beverages in place however, we settle in for the usual Saturday evening bout of piss taking and abuse. The freshly shaven head of Greek comes in for stick as first Totts accuses him of 'copying my look' and then both suffer as they're referred to as 'knock off Harry Hill tribute acts'. We also catch up with Ipswich Lee and his eldest and we compare Albufeira notes as he's off there next week on a lads weekend. Apparently it's largely so he can try to have some recall from his stag do there back in March, which ended in disgrace after one too many shots (so much so, the last 2 days were merely downgraded to 'a do'). His boy takes great delight in showing us a picture of an unfortunate bed vomiting incident. We did try to secure said picture for publication here, but sadly Lee got his legal team on the case first thing this morning and it's been embargoed. Sorry! We also compare drinking venues from our <b><a href="http://www.gandermonium.com/2014/09/its-minnows-from-rock-football-abroad.html" target="_blank">own little jaunt</a></b> over there a couple of years back for the Gibraltar game. Although we severely doubt the Lithuanian stripper that Dukey <b><a href="http://www.gandermonium.com/2014/09/from-lithuania-with-love-i-sold-my-soul.html" target="_blank">ponced some fags off</a></b> is still working in Voyeurs.<br /><br />I also take time to chat with Nat about next weekend's trip to Glasgow, in which she'll be making a late dash for our flight up there as she has a training course to attend at work that she can't get out of. I implore her not to be late and to miss it, simply as it would mean us having to convene a committee meeting to change the Gandermonium motto, which of course currently reads as "Leave no <i>man&nbsp;</i>behind, unless mutually inconvenient to the rest of the group". Just trying to persuade Dukey alone to accept bringing it into the 21st century would be a fucking nightmare I'm not willing to confront.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Lys3Y1w1g8A/W4w2mySuHhI/AAAAAAAAEqs/N9oRn4fiGjkR0j2-PSrjBIPj28LranxKgCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20180901_165222.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Lys3Y1w1g8A/W4w2mySuHhI/AAAAAAAAEqs/N9oRn4fiGjkR0j2-PSrjBIPj28LranxKgCK4BGAYYCw/s400/20180901_165222.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stock action shot.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />As I'm winding down my involvement in the Saturday evening and preparing to head home for dinner duties, the missus informs me by text that she's heading out to meet some friends before they head back to Sweden tomorrow. Touch! That means I can stay out and get leathered instead. Right, who's bloody round is it? I'm thirsty. Joe then takes time to protest his 'Sleepy' nickname earned after his nodding dog act in Blackpool last season. "I've only ever fallen asleep in a pub toilet twice!" he pleads "Ok, they were both Litten Tree's, but...." The prosecution rests m'lud. The earlier 'flat battery' scandal with the jukebox has thankfully been resolved and we can now able to turn it up to hear what is being played. The bad news is, Robbo is holding onto the remote. And by 'holding onto' I mean 'has it stuffed down the front of his keks'. With no one wishing to handle something that's been as close to his junk as that, let alone fish it out in the first place, we simply let him get on with his odd behaviour.<br /><br />After a few more pints, we all hop in some Ubers and head for the high street, mainly to show Lee what the O'Niells experience is all about. We'd made a few attempts at this previously, but the gang had always stopped off in the Crown at the bottom for a 'quick one' and ended stumbling out of there shitfaced at closing time instead and had never made it this far up! On arrival, Mr X's bad day deteriorates further when he realises he's left his phone in the cab. And it turns out dealing with Uber's customer service leaves a lot to be desired. In the end, we give up and he skulks off home to try &amp; use his 'locate my phone' thing on his laptop.<br /><br />We have a couple more in here, but before long I'm feeling the effects of a long day's intake and needing sustenance to soak up the beer &amp; gin now sloshing around my Newingtons. So I bid Lee and Dukey farewell, although the latter appears to be too busy fending off the attentions of a rather amourous lass who likes a shaved head on a man to notice and I head out into the night air. Sadly, with only 10 minutes to grab food and head for my bus back to HQ, my only real choice is Subway. Which I don't particularly like. Still, any port in a storm and all that so I grab some overpriced nosebag and make my transport with moments to spare.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Vr-RV9jR8TI/W4w3JNPe1GI/AAAAAAAAErM/vhteeBl-iu0cGcBut5O2ZwbCgcTK0AE7QCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20180901_231426.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Vr-RV9jR8TI/W4w3JNPe1GI/AAAAAAAAErM/vhteeBl-iu0cGcBut5O2ZwbCgcTK0AE7QCK4BGAYYCw/s400/20180901_231426.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pub entertainment</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />So, we're off to Maidstone this week and I'll be attempting to try &amp; not get stuck at fucking Bromley South again like I did a couple of seasons back and actually make the game. It was also the scene of one of the worst performances of last season, so after today I'm also hoping it's a bit more Conf South title run in than that to give us a little morale boost before we head over Hadrians Wall next weekend. I'm not entirely holding my breath though.<br /><br />Man, why do they always skimp on the lettuce at Subway? I asked for 'a load', not 'a light sprinkle'. Tight bastards.<br /><br />Taz<br /><br />Tazhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13058062784601238593noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9211878954912175436.post-86448500535604224222018-08-29T18:18:00.000+01:002018-08-30T20:15:12.051+01:00Discuss or Disgust?Oh the August Bank Holiday weekend. A good old excuse for non-league football to squeeze in two games in close proximity. And after a goalless draw against 'Flid' plus a heavy Saturday night to follow, it was time to head down to the Wilds of Hampshire take on another phoenix of a former league team in Aldershot. Or Aldershot Town as they're called these days.<br /><br /><a name='more'></a>And another thing, I didn't realise but, there were FA Cup matches as well on Saturday. Can't ever seem to recall any of that sort of action mixed with league football for us back in the day. A stinging away defeat at Tooting instead comes to mind. Or even a defeat down on the South Coast against Whitehawk. Wwhat about Chester away maybe? Not that I'm concerned with a poor record away from home on a August Bank Holiday at all...<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-V_5MEx3UjDc/W4gXgxSjEUI/AAAAAAAAFag/JFT6mS9Nk0AcQBOLDyd9bwaF5DUquYh_wCEwYBhgL/s1600/WP_20180827_001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-V_5MEx3UjDc/W4gXgxSjEUI/AAAAAAAAFag/JFT6mS9Nk0AcQBOLDyd9bwaF5DUquYh_wCEwYBhgL/s400/WP_20180827_001.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's a sign!</td></tr></tbody></table><br />With Aldershot away, we've got our usual plan of action to rely on, and plainly speaking that's "Drink beer in Farnham". So if you need a little re-cap of what could happen, just look at <b><a href="http://www.gandermonium.com/2017/03/7-balled-beaver.html" target="_blank">last time</a>. </b>So it was easily arranged that we would be needing to get the 11 o'clock from that little known train station called Clapham Junction.<br /><br />I arranged with Dr Bell to get the early 0905hrs from the Badlands of Carshalton up to Clapham. Well, you never can trust Thameslink these days. As it's a Southern train, it arrives vaguely on time and I find the Doctor nursing a cup of Rosie in one of the carriages. With the recent fuck up of train times, one positive to come out of it was that the fast train to Clapham from Sutton now stops at Carshalton as well before bombing its way through in about twenty minutes.<br /><br />4 Days (and 3 flushes) &amp; Lil' Chris are running a little bit late, but still think they'll make the train at Clapham, just about. Southampton Steve on the other hand has overslept and will be meeting us in Farnham. Another recent recruit 'Sleepy' Joe is also making an appearance, but will also be meeting up with us later on. One thing that me &amp; Dr Bell needed to do when we reach Clapham, is to tap out the old Oystercard. As last time we came this way I completely forgot and got done with the full amount.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DTb0cyy2P28/W4gXg9ZimrI/AAAAAAAAFak/UQhzkfDzzholjlvS6i6apddd-p75N9_qwCEwYBhgL/s1600/WP_20180827_002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DTb0cyy2P28/W4gXg9ZimrI/AAAAAAAAFak/UQhzkfDzzholjlvS6i6apddd-p75N9_qwCEwYBhgL/s400/WP_20180827_002.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wow, he had two...</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Whilst looking for a tapping out machine, we find Taz, who is already on the hunt for a bacon roll &amp; cuppa. Mr X soon appears, he was already on the platform, and dishes out the golden tickets. £10.25 return, not bad with a network card. Even better when you may have or may not have renewed said ticket for only a tenner! Winning at life, for once.<br /><br />Making sure I don't get on the wrong train, we're soon joined by 4 Days &amp; Lil' Chris, and not far behind is Indy &amp; Sean Connery's Stuntman. It's also a surprise that the Alton-bound train we're due to be on isn't filled to the rafters like previous endeavours and we actually find some seats to sit down on and relax for the journey. Most of the conversations are either about our forthcoming trip North of Hadrian's Wall or a possible CONIFA adventure next summer.<br /><br />Finally in Farnham, the first traditional pub of the day is "The Lamb", except that it's shut. Despite being the one that is <i>always</i> open for 11. So we move round the corner to the "William Cobbett" instead. And guess what? Yep, it's shut as well! Heading further into town we spot "The Lost Boy" but like a lost boy, no one can be found to open the bugger either. Next on list is "The Queens Head", which is actually open. Hurrah! Beer!<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-HrAOYaQf-CA/W4gXg0r7DMI/AAAAAAAAFaY/SF5PeAbcQpMUw9U4FWPmPoQUH8zzQpSDgCEwYBhgL/s1600/WP_20180827_003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-HrAOYaQf-CA/W4gXg0r7DMI/AAAAAAAAFaY/SF5PeAbcQpMUw9U4FWPmPoQUH8zzQpSDgCEwYBhgL/s400/WP_20180827_003.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Actually open...</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Being a bit on the pricey side, we only stay for one. Which obviously leads to two. When me &amp; Mr X were out the back in the smoking area, a random fella approached Mr X, looking confused at his badge. Turned out it was some fella who's last match watching down The Rec, was actually Sutton last year. He even mentioned a story where he lost his wallet before the game in a local pub for it only to be handed in behind the bar. After claiming that the £300 in readies that we left in there, were still there, he was told that it was handed in by a Sutton fan no less. Mr X's reply: "Can't have been real Sutton fans then...".<br /><br />The clock hits twelve, so we head off back towards the&nbsp;Cobbett, where Southampton Steve &amp; Sleepy Joe are awaiting our arrival. A right kooky place the Cobbett is and I saw that they were still serving food on wooden boards. Shame the juke box was out of action. Still, we managed to entertain ourselves with various conversational topics. Some of which I'm not allowed to mention. Isn't that right Dr Bell?<br /><br />At one point, things started to get a little bit fucked up. Well, at least from me that is. When Taz was trying to explain the current situation with his 'delay repay' request from out trip up to Guiseley at the end of November last year, I asked the simple question "Is the cheque&nbsp;<i>iniment</i>?". Much piss taking later I try to change the subject onto a possible dream trip to Ireland for the third round of the Irn-Bru Cup. "Will we wear orange <i>chassis</i>?" What was up with me to day? Further mickey taking and I try to once again change tack and enquire about the song being played through the sound system. "Is this song by that fella Setanta?". Yeah, the Irish broadcaster obviously. Fuckin' bellend.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WA6-BhyvLM0/W4gXjsOV-7I/AAAAAAAAFak/hvBeHwQAwG4OYaFgH59S917QN5q-gaMfQCEwYBhgL/s1600/WP_20180827_004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WA6-BhyvLM0/W4gXjsOV-7I/AAAAAAAAFak/hvBeHwQAwG4OYaFgH59S917QN5q-gaMfQCEwYBhgL/s400/WP_20180827_004.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">MP for Oldham, apparently...</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Not to be outdone, Mr X regresses back to the ticket fiasco and asks "Do we need to ride Northern Whale again this season?" Shakey-Wakey perhaps? Taz and his 'Straight-Jacket' was next. On the advice that "The Lamb" was still shut, we sank several more pints here before it was time to head back to the station. Walking past the now open Lamb we are near the station where Southampton Steve was looking to get some grub from the chippy. Except it was&nbsp; of course shut. 1130-1415 was scrawled on the door. And the time was currently 1416hrs! Unlucky mate.<br /><br />Mr X trails off to buy what appears to be a pitta roll from the local petrol station except it seemed to miss most of whatever filling was meant to be in it. And they didn't even sell any beer! The train arrives and we're soon in Aldershot and passing the now overgrown artillery piece that stands pride of place on the outside roundabout. If you've ever done the walk to the ground from the station, you know what it's like. If not, give it a go, 'culturally inspiring' I believe someone once commented. I'm sure they weren't being sarcastic.<br /><br />On our way, we received several messages that for the first time, we wouldn't be using the usual turnstiles on the main road. Always a marvel they were as you had several for home supporters and a couple next to them for away fans. And through you went to see that everyone ended up in exactly the same spot. Weird, very weird. Especially when the game is supposed to be segregated.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kd48QrWKdoE/W4gXkQ95qYI/AAAAAAAAFac/sd4KvSvYAAw0CIBHMcZdN4GDo2X0IKuQgCEwYBhgL/s1600/WP_20180827_005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kd48QrWKdoE/W4gXkQ95qYI/AAAAAAAAFac/sd4KvSvYAAw0CIBHMcZdN4GDo2X0IKuQgCEwYBhgL/s400/WP_20180827_005.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gun!</td></tr></tbody></table><br />This time we had to trek around to the far end. And a trek it was. Past what appeared to be a disused pub, through some jungle and then down the other side of a mountain to end up in a queue as they had only one turnstile open. £18 later and we're at the back of the East Stand to be greeted with port-a-loos and a snack wagon that's about as big. Except, the snack wagon done burgers and not much else, and no chips! The toilets on the other hand were surprising for everyone, and no male/female separations. Very modern that.<br /><br />A quick smoke (as the bar was not accessible either) and we discuss the team line-up. One point that did come up was the man that was going to be the man in black for today's match. None other than a certain Mr Carl Brook. Now I know there are those that still believe that referees are impartial, neutral &amp; fine human beings, but there are certain names that when mentioned will give many a veteran Sutton fans a feeling of dread. Brook, Coggins, Rock, Ross, Dengarian &amp; Kaye to name but a few. And he's one of 'them'.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9JQ-jqFz_9k/W4gXpR1JPEI/AAAAAAAAFag/Mx4NgawwxpUfkOy_6s5j6lgJ0pvyMh7kwCEwYBhgL/s1600/WP_20180827_009.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9JQ-jqFz_9k/W4gXpR1JPEI/AAAAAAAAFag/Mx4NgawwxpUfkOy_6s5j6lgJ0pvyMh7kwCEwYBhgL/s400/WP_20180827_009.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The long walk...</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><b><i>Butler, Thomas, Beckwith, Clough, Collins, Davis, Eastmond, Beautyman, Wright, Taylor, Drinan. Bench Warmers: Bolarinwa, Lafayette, Cadogan, Brown, Wishart.</i></b><br /><b><i><br /></i></b>Sutton kicked off and the ball is knocked straight back to Butler. From this, he pumps it forward towards the wings, despite the fact that we'd seemed to have set ourselves up very narrow. Wright is quick to take it right towards the corner and even gets a free-kick out of it, thanks to the linesman. And fair play to the fella, because several times he was called into action with similar decisions right in front of him. What is this, a decent linesman? Like fuck! As soon as he was overruled on one of these decisions after a few minutes, he's soon back in his box and returns to the usual bollocks of not keeping up with play and letting players take too much length down the pitch whilst taking a throw in.<br /><br />Opening half hour and it's and open enough match. Clough missed a guilt-edged chance when he received the ball on the six yard line. With no one around him, he managed to lift the ball over the bar. A much harder trick than he made it out to be. Soon after Collins tries to reach a long ball in the box and has his shirt pulled by his marker (look at the highlights and the always excellent photos from Paul our photographer for proof). How the ref and lino see nothing is daft.<br /><br />Moments later and Mr Brook does what he's known for. Collins mistimes his challenge and cleans out a little fella on the half way line. A cast iron yellow as not only there was plenty of cover behind him, but he was at least making an attempt to get the ball, except he's a lot older than he used to be. Not giving it much thought, the away support groans as Brook produces a straight red! Jesus, Mary &amp; Joseph! Well that's killed it for us. Trying to hold out until half-time, Sutton nearly mange this before Aldershot take the lead right on the break. A well placed cross into the box is met by the foot of Rendell and sails into the goal from close range.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-g8W9Uf_A7JU/W4gXwGgInOI/AAAAAAAAFaQ/Cx8CN68eCi8LnslJ0jQix0wZd6u9JciaQCEwYBhgL/s1600/WP_20180827_017.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-g8W9Uf_A7JU/W4gXwGgInOI/AAAAAAAAFaQ/Cx8CN68eCi8LnslJ0jQix0wZd6u9JciaQCEwYBhgL/s400/WP_20180827_017.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No entry...</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Second half and Sutton show their intentions. A triple sub is made with Bolarwinra, Lafayette &amp; Cadogan&nbsp;brought on for Taylor, Drinan &amp; Wright. Not the first time Our Lord Dos has done it but it always reminds me at the start of his time with us that he once remarked "He will always go for it". The first time we heard this? After a 4-0 away drubbing at Wealdstone when he'd lobbed on all the subs at 2-0 down!<br /><br />Unfortunately the triple sub fails to have any real effect as Cadogan &amp; Bolarinwa fail to get themselves into the match. Things get worse when a poor Thomas headed clearance goes as far as the closest Aldershot player whose then plays around with others before it arrives in the Sutton box and is confidently slotted home. 2-0 down and with ten men, things are not looking good. It only begins to liven up as the time drags on, with the Shots looking a bit nervours. Lafayette, not for the first time, misses another peach when he ends up lashing out at a loose ball inside the six yard box, his effort, I believe, is still in orbit.<br /><br />With time fast running out, Sutton are given a free leg-up. Trying to attack the ball in the box, the ball runs to the keeper. He throws it out to the right-back, who begins to charge down the wing with it. In the corner of my eye, I see Clough trying to remonstrate with the ref, whilst pulling his shirt roughly. On the floor is Thomas, who I assume was victim of the shirt pulling. Out of nowhere, Mr Brook blows up and then consults his linesman on the far side, no doubt having had a peep in his shell like from his lino.<br /><br />The result? PENALTY! What? Something for Sutton, blimey! A yellow card is produced and with Collins obviously having an early shower, it's down to Lafayette to take penalty duties. He then calmly slots the ball home. <b>2-1! </b>From my angle it looked liked he scuffed it a bit, but that was not the case. And after looking at the highlights, I was wrong about the shirt-pulling. Totally wrong. The Aldershot player blatantly gives Thomas a two hand shove to the floor instead! So how's that only a yellow then??<br /><br />Now deep into stoppage time, Sutton usually get one more chance. Lafayette gets a rare free-kick awarded to him as he tried to challenge for an aerial ball. A free-kick deep into Aldershot territory is his reward and bodies pile forward. Could this be the one chance? Like fuck! The resulting kick sails over everyone and goes out for a goal kick. Not long after, Mr Brook blows the whistle on our first defeat of the season.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mXca6fBuPZY/W4gX5TGAa9I/AAAAAAAAFak/wjoYG25dO20zjD3rbq4IBgeYWXXrEBV5gCEwYBhgL/s1600/WP_20180827_027.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mXca6fBuPZY/W4gX5TGAa9I/AAAAAAAAFak/wjoYG25dO20zjD3rbq4IBgeYWXXrEBV5gCEwYBhgL/s400/WP_20180827_027.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">251 away supporters, apparently...</td></tr></tbody></table><br />After the match and it's time for us to leave the wilds of <strike>Surrey</strike> Hampshire. First we must make it back to the station past what appears to be a showcase for pre-teen Stone Island. Waiting for a train, we fail to grab any beer from the offy. The plan is to head to Guildford and have a cheeky pint or two in the 'Spoons before heading back homewards.<br /><br />At 'Spoons and some of us show our age by talking about pensions. yes, bloody pensions. Ain't going to get one so it doesn't bother me. We also discuss family trees, another weird subject. But at least we finally found out that Mr X's Granddad was a window cleaner. Possibly a Window Cleaner with a fear of heights. Must've specialised in Bungalows then.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ajUWPh79pbE/W4gX7lpJIkI/AAAAAAAAFag/g6qk1LYw_6kXJt0LbFGJ-B_lMX5Czy0rQCEwYBhgL/s1600/WP_20180827_028.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ajUWPh79pbE/W4gX7lpJIkI/AAAAAAAAFag/g6qk1LYw_6kXJt0LbFGJ-B_lMX5Czy0rQCEwYBhgL/s400/WP_20180827_028.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Possible future destination...</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Back at the station and we decided to try ye olde Dorking route for once. We also spot a train that is about to arrive from Aberdeen. Bloody Aberdeen, terminating in Guildford. That must be a bleedin' long arsed journey that one. Another reason for the Dorking route is that the Croydon boys cane go all the way to Gatwick before turning North. From Deepdene to Dorking Main and we're all sailing home. No post match drinking this time. Well it is a school night after all and we're sometimes a bit sensible. Eventually I arrive back home.<br /><br />We now move onto this weekend, were we take on early and surprise leaders Halifax. I wonder if they're just going to kick us all over the park like they did last time? After that it's another midweek trip to Maidstone for the latest instalment of 'El Plastico' and then we have a little trip to Scotland. Not that we're excited about that. Are we Ozzie? So until then, Enjoy!<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3qx4WS0E3GA/W4gX9y2-0ZI/AAAAAAAAFao/BEPLS-NxXpgCHNjdvss8ZVC7IY8qiR_qgCEwYBhgL/s1600/WP_20180827_032.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3qx4WS0E3GA/W4gX9y2-0ZI/AAAAAAAAFao/BEPLS-NxXpgCHNjdvss8ZVC7IY8qiR_qgCEwYBhgL/s400/WP_20180827_032.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dorking has changed...</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />Duke<br />Att. 1904<br /><br />Dukehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15782806444120070028noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9211878954912175436.post-69323695550098932452018-08-26T22:05:00.005+01:002018-08-26T22:13:07.386+01:00Cretins to CribbinsI am sure many (or at least some of) our readers will know that it’s just the two weeks before the mighty Sutton United and its many splinter fan groups will be travelling north to Scotland for the Irn Bru Cup tie against Airdrie via whatever means of transport they can find. It has also been discovered Premier Inn’s finest in Argyle Street, Glasgow will also be housing a number of the invading U's. Party in the lobby anyone with haggis and Tennents Special Brew with some Buckfast chasers anyone?<br /><br /><a name='more'></a>I must confess, I have though recently developed an obsession with the drink Irn Bru, courtesy of my line manager at work – us Civil Servants (more to come later). By the way, if the rumour is true and they do indeed hand out free cans of said drink at the Airdrie game and no one wants theirs – then can I have it please? Discussions are also being had on who will be roomies for the trip – Taz for one lays down the law to recent invalided Belly for the return of the Ginger Suite! Apparently he draws the line at tying the old boy's shoelaces, as well as a few other things which I can't bring myself to mention.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-I_E4MOEvX4Q/W4MU6oHr04I/AAAAAAAAF5s/XpwkJzgA49ksKPpYUW0Jym_xld6jWpQBQCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_0853.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-I_E4MOEvX4Q/W4MU6oHr04I/AAAAAAAAF5s/XpwkJzgA49ksKPpYUW0Jym_xld6jWpQBQCLcBGAs/s400/IMG_0853.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Blatant product placement....</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />Turning now to matters in hand – the game against Fylde at GGL, third versus fourth.&nbsp; A polite notice went out from the club’s Twitter account that none of the cash machines would be working today so it’s strictly cash only, which I'm sure Dukey will love. This means rather than by going my usual route via Uber limosine to the ground, I'm having to slum it on public transport instead.&nbsp; Approaching Sutton Station I draw out the all important cash, and to my horror I am charged £1.99 for the privilege. Listen folks, take this tip to not use the cash machines by Sutton Station, the robbing so and so's. I then take myself to the 413 bus stop by the post office and when getting on I hear familiar voices, its Cameraman Paul Loughlin, 4 Days and Lil Chris.<br /><br />Upon reaching GGL I am proudly sporting a can of Irn Bru and I catch the second half of the Maidenhead versus Maidstone game with the few faces who are there present. If you want to see comical defending then this was the one, culminating in a comically horrific last minute own goal, 3-2 to Maidenhead and their first win of the season, unlucky Worgan!<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ABKlntVEiJY/W4MU60wyt6I/AAAAAAAAF5w/qMJ1Md7ZN14Q6xDOq2hW8gx61rmrpFAYQCEwYBhgL/s1600/IMG_0855.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ABKlntVEiJY/W4MU60wyt6I/AAAAAAAAF5w/qMJ1Md7ZN14Q6xDOq2hW8gx61rmrpFAYQCEwYBhgL/s400/IMG_0855.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Er, Jeff, your bag's open!"</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />The list of celebrities to visit GGL also continues today with the visit of BT Sport’s Jeff Brazier. Yes the Jeff Brazier of reality TV fame and those postcode lottery adverts – you know the one “someone’s knocking at the door, someone’s ringing the bell”. Although, my learned friends of Gandermonium will tell that <b><a href="http://www.gandermonium.com/2017/08/lucy-in-sky-with-dundo.html" target="_blank">Mr Brazier was once also footballer playing for the likes of Canvey Island</a></b> and Billericay. However, Mr Brazier is here today on duty for the aforementioned TV channel. I would assume this is due to them showing Fylde's game live on Bank Holiday Monday.<br /><br />Thoughts turn to the game, Fylde who for me have one of the best strikers in our league in Danny Rowe, however their fanbase has a bit to be desired – I am sure they bought less than 50 fans with them and that’s me being kind. Still it means there will be no need for segregation today at least. The team line-up for today is as follows:<br /><br /><b><i>26. Butler, 2. Bennett, 21. Wish, 5. Clough, 6. The JC (skipper), 8. Davis, 15. Eastie, 11. Cadogan, 7, Tombo, 23. Josh Taylor 9. Laffayette</i></b><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0tx6y7NbFa8/W4MU7dGDRZI/AAAAAAAAF6M/trKg7bSc2moGvrDwLZAhCC0UKgQZrMYowCEwYBhgL/s1600/IMG_0857.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0tx6y7NbFa8/W4MU7dGDRZI/AAAAAAAAF6M/trKg7bSc2moGvrDwLZAhCC0UKgQZrMYowCEwYBhgL/s400/IMG_0857.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Queueing</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />In a rarity we thought we'd get to stand at the Rec End for the first half, but in an even rarer event, we then had to change ends as for the first half we were shooting towards the GGL end anyway! As we all take our places on The Shoebox I notice that the linesman on our side is a fellow Civil Servant. And to think I saw him just the day before whilst walking to my car to take part in my commute home. We Civil Servants are professionals, and for this I will not be coating the linesman for a change out of respect for a colleague, but of course this will not stop the others as they unfurl the usual colourful range of comments to berate his every misdemeanour during the first half.<br /><br />Half Time Steve (HTS) leaves for the bar bang on 30 minutes as usual and asks me if I want a beer, yes please mate! But I hold back and only follow him down on 40 minutes. Fortunately we both missed nothing of any note as the half time score is 0-0. The real highlight from a Sutton perspective is a shot by Cadogan inside the box bringing out a good save from the Fylde keeper. Please note that due to my early departure for the bar, I missed the two saves by Jamie Butler at the end of the first half. My thanks to the editor for filling me in on these key details!<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TOUERN7d34Q/W4MU7wMeeGI/AAAAAAAAF6Y/69eoa5zQrB8j87gm8OZGBxqhobLBddZ6gCEwYBhgL/s1600/IMG_0859.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TOUERN7d34Q/W4MU7wMeeGI/AAAAAAAAF6Y/69eoa5zQrB8j87gm8OZGBxqhobLBddZ6gCEwYBhgL/s400/IMG_0859.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oi! Get away from that fence!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />Second half time and it’s a walk to the Collingwood end, where again there was a ban in force on standing by the fence – however I have to applaud the steward as not only did he allow me to stand there to get a better view, he was also very apologetic to others he made move away from the fence.&nbsp; Notable chances in this half from Fylde in the opening minutes resulting in yet another Butler save with his feet. Second half substitute Tommy Wright produced a save from the Fylde keeper and a rebound attempt by Aaron Drinan also saved – however, he when he finally slotted the ball into the net celebrations were cut short due to the offside flag being raised. With three minutes left, Cloughie was the hero at the other end, making a last ditch tackle to block Fylde scoring a winner. The U's could have snatched it even later however, with the Fylde goalkeeper making an excellent save from the Captain's header deep into stoppage time. So the final score being 0-0, The U’s still remain unbeaten and Kenny Davis rightfully winning the man of the match award. For the statisticians, we had the one yellow for Dan Wishart, and the substitutions being Drinan and Tommy Wright on for Lafayette and Cadogan on 71 minutes followed by Harry Beautyman (whose kit I sponsor, had I mentioned that?) on for Wishart on 79 minutes.&nbsp; An attendance figure of 1770.<br /><br />After the game I decide to go to the Vice Presidents’ lounge and have a beer with the COCs. Mainly as it means I get a glass for my beverage and not one of those plastic things the masses have to suffer next door. Discussions were had about the trip to Scotland, and the COCs inviting me to join them. Sorry lads I am faithful to Gandermonium however I do like engaging in stakeholder engagement and networking <i><span style="color: #38761d;">(You what? - Ed)</span></i>. This also leads to the basis of my title, Cretins to Cribbins – well a conversation was had about Bernard Cribbins and is he alive or dead? Malcolm seems to think he is no longer with us, whereas Keepo believes he is very much still drawing breath. Of course, we settle this like all gentlemen do and we consult Wikipedia for a second and it is immediately discovered Bernard Cribbins is still alive. Keepo was right! Now if this had been the Gandermonium lot, there would no doubt have been 5 pence riding on the answer! This then leads on to discussing further actors and actresses of the Carry On films fame – Jim Dale, Kenneth Connor and Charles Hawtrey. Cue AB next door and his famous accordion, which almost drowned out Salford’s manager and his interview the other week.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-34_UXPfMOT4/W4MU71H_gCI/AAAAAAAAF6Q/Z7tSskSB6dQ3CgQElHWARtFEtJE--uhFgCEwYBhgL/s1600/IMG_0860.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1203" height="400" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-34_UXPfMOT4/W4MU71H_gCI/AAAAAAAAF6Q/Z7tSskSB6dQ3CgQElHWARtFEtJE--uhFgCEwYBhgL/s400/IMG_0860.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crowd</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />Strikers are Key time and it is ball number 28 that is pulled out – that of Carl. Sadly for Mr Moynehan and hooray for the rest of us, he does not find the right key and thus the money rolls over to the next home game against Halifax with AB sending him on his way with the traditional £50 consolation prize. Video evidence then emerges of Marcus from the COCs famous dancing episode from the last home game, which has now gone global and has even been commented upon by Jeff Brazier, who I'd also advised via Twitter that I would mention him in my blog and recommended our material for him to read, so if you are indeed reading this Mr Brazier, hello! It also seems Jeff is a fan of Millzy’s dog Tizer – and yours truly takes a liking for said pooch too.<br /><br />People start to drift away, including Taz who goes home for his dinner. The pool table, now in a new location of the bar, is then uncovered and killer pool starts. Mr X is referee and unkindly knocks me off a life for my struggles to pot a ball – that is heightism Mr X! Although, it turns out to be the longest game of killer pool in history and eventually ends up with Youth Firm Leader Johnnie winning.&nbsp; Plus it’s also good to see Belly back and on the booze too.&nbsp; Blimey is that the time – 10pm, time to order an Uber to visit a favourite Gandermonium haunt of O’Neills. It turns out my driver will be Ayesha, I think that’s the first female Uber driver I have had and she even compliments me on my 4.86 Uber rating <i><span style="color: #38761d;">(She'd have loved me with my perfect 5.0 then! - Ed)</span></i> – hey I do say I am the nicest person you will ever wish to meet. Well, maybe apart from Twitter users who think it’s a good idea to criticise my blogs!<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-opHprX87nDs/W4MU6WYcmKI/AAAAAAAAF6Y/1GPrB4pXkbkklytmj3Vdn-8KcpqjSr4nACEwYBhgL/s1600/8406aade-b170-421f-ba33-a1a7a2063ccd.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-opHprX87nDs/W4MU6WYcmKI/AAAAAAAAF6Y/1GPrB4pXkbkklytmj3Vdn-8KcpqjSr4nACEwYBhgL/s400/8406aade-b170-421f-ba33-a1a7a2063ccd.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Surprising that!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />Upon arriving to Sutton High Street, Greek and I stop for a pit-stop in Subway.&nbsp; We are both served by Lucky – what a cool name.&nbsp; Once our subs have been demolished it’s time to enter O’Neills and the remaining peeps left are Greek, Dukey, Belly, Wreck-it-Beckett and I; but also present in O’Neills is Irish Pete. Greek and Wreck-it-Beckett take to the dance floor where Greek has taken Dukey’s cap. Eventually I decide to call it a night and hail yet another cab – although this driver is not quite so friendly, still&nbsp; he gets the full five stars though. I have an average to maintain!<br /><br />I must thank our editor and chief Taz for a tip he has given me with blog writing.&nbsp; The tip is to take notes during the day to make sure you do not forget certain events/incidents. It actually works! Thoughts now turn to Monday’s Bank Holiday game away to Aldershot Town, a place where we are overdue a win.&nbsp; The capped “wonder” known as Dukey will be your host for that one.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YFQJnuk7cLQ/W4MU82gfK6I/AAAAAAAAF6Y/Xh70wrWtpoINZrkc-kuSDyPwWijWpTWDwCEwYBhgL/s1600/IMG_0864.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YFQJnuk7cLQ/W4MU82gfK6I/AAAAAAAAF6Y/Xh70wrWtpoINZrkc-kuSDyPwWijWpTWDwCEwYBhgL/s400/IMG_0864.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Packed dancefloor</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />Wise men say…<br /><br />Robbo<br /><br />Gander Moniumhttps://plus.google.com/100970888492967679847noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9211878954912175436.post-70590299013988490892018-08-20T09:00:00.002+01:002018-08-20T09:17:39.555+01:00The Circle of LifeIt’s been an eventful week at Gandermonium Towers. No sooner had we returned from the wastelands of <strike>Gravesend &amp; Northfleet</strike> Ebbsfleet with three hard-earned points, attention turned to the start of our forthcoming European tour. Yes, this is still a thing, the Scottish FA haven’t recovered their senses and backed out of the whole shebang, Sutton United are still participating in this year’s Scottish Challenge Cup (which we are contractually obliged to call the Irn-Bru Cup), and Thursday saw the draw take place live on the SPFL’s Facebook page. Modern life, eh?<br /><br /><a name='more'></a>With Stuart McCall doing the honours and drawing out our ginger ball (calm down, Taz) it meant we were off to Airdrie, just east of Glasgow, to face Airdrieonians. As the newly-appointed Gandermonium Overseas Travel Secretary, it was left to me to arrange flights and hotels, and by Friday afternoon we had placed more than two grand into the pockets of EasyJet and Premier Inn. Efficient.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3ohwf7TbDio/W3pyF1J34FI/AAAAAAAAEn8/x6BI3lQd2RMVTa5jIUJrotz8EM7jeS0egCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20180818_141212.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3ohwf7TbDio/W3pyF1J34FI/AAAAAAAAEn8/x6BI3lQd2RMVTa5jIUJrotz8EM7jeS0egCK4BGAYYCw/s400/20180818_141212.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trainspotting</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />Much less efficient are our old friends Network Rail and TfL, who decided they’d both like to dig up various pieces of track this weekend for a change, so our usual route to Birmingham for our game at Solihull was turned into a right pain in the arse. No trains out of Euston, meaning we’d have to take the slower route via Marylebone, and no Bakerloo line so actually getting to Marylebone involved either a walk or a bus as well.<br /><br />I opted to be a bus wanker for this one, getting the number 2 (wonder if I can squeeze out any other toilet-based puns?) from Victoria, but it meant I was the last to arrive. Mr X had kindly already bought the tickets, but it turned out that the lovely <strike>wankers</strike>&nbsp;folks at Chiltern Railway had decided that they weren’t offering any Group Save or Railcard discounts this weekend <strike>so they could shamefully cash in</strike> because it was going to be busy, so everyone would have to pay full price. Pricks. Thirty quid a pop for a trip that cost a tenner last year. Cheers, lads.<br /><br />Having got insider information on which platform we were leaving from, we managed to get the jump on everyone else and secured seats for the near-two hour journey. Magnum PI did what now appears to be customary for him, and produced the most middle-class “breakfast” known to mankind – some smelly pasta concoction that had us begging for someone else to board with a bag full of McDonalds to make it feel more pleasant. Apparently we were lucky he made the train as he had managed to complete some top-secret business last night rather than this morning, at which point Dukey made his regular enquiry as to whether JR had charged VAT for his services – yes, came the reply, but the rate was only half as the job came through an agent. Welcome to the Layer Cake, son!<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4UYy1BdXRkc/W3pyM9AXl8I/AAAAAAAAEoE/9sKhpEnrZ4k-6KgS8UarSOPncg0_tNUqACK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20180818_141514.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4UYy1BdXRkc/W3pyM9AXl8I/AAAAAAAAEoE/9sKhpEnrZ4k-6KgS8UarSOPncg0_tNUqACK4BGAYYCw/s400/20180818_141514.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yes, we are as it happens!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />On arrival into Birmingham Moor Street, we eventually got through the barriers after a family featuring a dad sporting what can politely be termed Small Man Syndrome got arsey with yours truly for the heinous crime of letting his wife with pushchair cut across me to get to the wide gate. Fuckwit.<br /><br />Anyway, we quickly got our bearings and made our way through the precinct to one of our favourite away day pubs, the Post Office Vaults. The scene was almost set for the annual Gandermonium Bar Billiards Open. Mr X handed over the tenner deposit for the paraphernalia and started to set up the table, but we noticed something different. Regular readers may be familiar with our previous trips where the “highlight” (yes, we’re that childish) of playing here was the Pop-up Pirate that had acted as a substitute mushroom in previous editions. Shock was the overriding emotion when it turned out they’d actually replaced it with a proper new piece. So obviously we went back to the bar and demanded that the Pirate be reinstated.<br /><br />An even contest between a load of idiots who frequently forget the rules ensued, with game victories for me, Magnum PI, Mr X and even Taz, who must have been practicing as I don’t think he scored more than about 50 points in the whole time we were there last year.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dNTes-3HgEA/W3pyawgYGoI/AAAAAAAAEoQ/GGSkNjnhIfwUTK27GAKGdf35_SvG0gAOwCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20180818_121744.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dNTes-3HgEA/W3pyawgYGoI/AAAAAAAAEoQ/GGSkNjnhIfwUTK27GAKGdf35_SvG0gAOwCK4BGAYYCw/s400/20180818_121744.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Always watching...</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />While all this was going on, 4 Days randomly bumped into an old friend at the bar. We shall return to this subject shortly.<br /><br />One of the things with boozing in cities you don’t really know very well is that you’ll often take recommendations from locals. One such local, who had been sitting in the corner watching our rubbish billiards efforts for a while, suggested we try 'Tilt'. He helpfully gave us directions, which of course we forgot within 5 minutes. After a quick Google, we found the place and entered, already feeling trepidation having looked in from the outside. This felt like the birthplace of the word “hipster”. 4 Days and Taz were slightly in their element, being of the poncy ale-drinking persuasion. Mr X was most displeased with the range of lager on offer, while Dukey turned up a couple of minutes later, took one look at the prices and started ranting about something or other. I didn’t hear much of it, but I’m sure the word “communism” was mentioned. As a vodka drinker, I was well into “lucky dip” territory – the vodka wasn’t a known brand, and the can of coke on offer was, er, weird. Made in Australia, Karma Cola had a strange cinnamon kick to it. Nope.<br /><br />Once Dukey had calmed down, 4 Days enquired as to why he was so far behind us. Turned out he’d gone back into the Vaults to speak to someone, who turned out to be the same friend of 4 Days mentioned above. As they used to say on the news before revealing the scores ahead of Match of the Day, for those who don’t want to know the score, look away now. It turns out that Dukey also knew this old friend, that during one boozy night, he and her - for she is a female - had shared the night, but that he had failed his duty because of the 18 pints he had drunk that night. To cut a far-too-long story short, he ended up with tongue cramp to make up for the lack of prowess down below – you’re now trying to scratch that thought from the back of your retinas, aren’t you? – and woke up with a dead arm after she fell asleep on him, leaving him unable (or unwilling, as is probably more likely) to escape. Funny how life throws up such little coincidences, isn’t it?<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MEAviilHHn8/W3pymnVsj-I/AAAAAAAAEoc/G4eBpMIgzzIDP0KtEpSxDSRtSQQt26hCACK4BGAYYCw/s1600/2018-08-18%2B15.25.21%2B%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MEAviilHHn8/W3pymnVsj-I/AAAAAAAAEoc/G4eBpMIgzzIDP0KtEpSxDSRtSQQt26hCACK4BGAYYCw/s400/2018-08-18%2B15.25.21%2B%25281%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Taking the lead</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />Aaaaanyway… next boozer, back to the Windsor, where they were showing the Cardiff v Newcastle snoozefest, where we could regroup and sort how we were getting to Solihull. Easy to forget that was vaguely why we were here, after all… the less mobile members of the group opted for a taxi all the way, while the rest of us headed back to Moor Street to get the train, and then an Uber from Solihull station to the ground.<br /><br />A quick one in the club bar, and it was time for the game. £15 to get in this year, which I’m sure is a £2 increase from last time – Brexit hyperinflation already in evidence, I see.<br /><br /><b><i>Butler, Bennett, Clough, Collins, Wishart, Cadogan, Eastmond, Davis, Cadogan, Drinan, Lafayette; Subs: Beckwith, Bolarinwa, Ayunga, Brown, Wright</i></b><br /><br />The game started in pretty open fashion, we were allowing them to run at us a little bit too much for my liking, and we were fortunate that their radar was miles off as I don’t think Butler actually had a shot to save despite the home side getting themselves into some pretty good shooting positions. Their 9 in particular had a great chance when he mugged JC off on the touchline but his curling effort went inches past the far post.<br /><br />At the other end, we were putting some good moves together without forcing the keeper into anything meaningful. Josh Taylor and Aaron Drinan continued their excellent work from Tuesday night and caused their right side all kinds of problems, while Ross Lafayette was busy receiving his weekly dose of GBH from their centre halves. Still, he was the one who reacted fastest after a big handball shout for a penalty was turned down, the ball fell by the penalty spot and he swivelled and lashed it into the corner. 1-0!<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hGuMzkpUIEQ/W3pyqGr8j5I/AAAAAAAAEok/wxOxPsmlQUolnF9_VV3s2OtlAcUuixDFwCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20180818_155200.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hGuMzkpUIEQ/W3pyqGr8j5I/AAAAAAAAEok/wxOxPsmlQUolnF9_VV3s2OtlAcUuixDFwCK4BGAYYCw/s400/20180818_155200.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Seating</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />Half-time came and, for all that Solihull were getting a lot of space between the lines, it never felt as though we were in much danger – even though if any of their shots had been on target, we’d have been in a whole world of trouble.<br /><br />It seemed as though their new gaffer Tim Flowers had given their lot a bit of a rollocking at the break, as, even though they’d not been that bad, they were much more at it at the start of the second half. Again, shots were raining in, but mostly from distance, and all off target. It felt like we’d weathered the storm, and then the ref stepped in. He’d been giving them a load of soft decisions all afternoon, while allowing them to smash Lafayette’s front tooth out without so much as a talking to, and one such soft decision gave them a free kick out wide. It was swung in deep, looked like it was overhit, but their big lad managed to nod it back across goal right under the bar where Danny Wright headed in from about a yard for what was probably a deserved equaliser.<br /><br />Things were getting a bit scrappy, and a rare moment of entertainment saw one of the rent-a-steward mob completely mugged off by Ryan from the yoof who showed some surprisingly decent footwoork for a big lad by nutmegging the steward with the ball that had flown into the stand with us. The steward didn’t take kindly to this, so Ryan then dropped the shoulder in a manner Peter Beardsley would be proud of, and knocked the ball past him again. Great stuff, sign him up!<br /><br />Tommy Wright came on for Drinan, and was quickly into the action. Lafayette won a great flick-on to put Wright into the clear, and although he ran a bit wide, his low shot somehow crept under the keeper’s body and into the back of the net for 2-1! Limbs in the away end, and plenty of laughter at the home keeper for a proper schoolboy error.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-s_vI-NTd_NA/W3pyt7TKFyI/AAAAAAAAEow/tXcv5Yq0Qq48sE69Ac_2sweXblWarIfTwCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/2018-08-18%2B16.31.33%2B%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-s_vI-NTd_NA/W3pyt7TKFyI/AAAAAAAAEow/tXcv5Yq0Qq48sE69Ac_2sweXblWarIfTwCK4BGAYYCw/s400/2018-08-18%2B16.31.33%2B%25281%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mugged. Off.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />Having regained the lead with little more than ten minutes remaining, it felt like we’d got a second wind and that we’d see the game out comfortably. And then we realised which team we’re following, and that we very rarely do things the easy way, so of course we sat back and invited them onto us. The lead only lasted just over five minutes, as another set piece caused chaos in our box, it looked from the other end as though we had a few opportunities to clear it but they just about kept the ball alive each time, and it ended up with Kyle Storer stabbing it into the corner for 2-2. Fucks sake.<br /><br />At this point we’re now worried that we won’t even hold on for a point, such has been the direction of traffic for most of this second half, but then suddenly Eastmond finds himself almost in the clear, but presumably blowing out of his arse by this point in the game he opts for a shot from 20 yards out rather than taking it on another 10, and his shot is comfortably saved by the keeper. After 5 minutes of injury time, we clear yet another Solihull corner and the ref calls time on the Desmond.<br /><br />Frustrating to not win after leading twice, especially having gone back in front with barely 15 minutes left, but Solihull are no mugs as their run in the last few months of last season proved, and they’ve carried that on into this season. You’d expect their resources to limit what they can do, but we said that about us last season and that didn’t go too badly in the end…<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-epVsOYZuj2Y/W3pyyYLr1fI/AAAAAAAAEo4/ZrgbVJLMQ5cRlN0iKcRyGaupdMiVVg7fgCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/miller-spar%2B%25281%2529.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-epVsOYZuj2Y/W3pyyYLr1fI/AAAAAAAAEo4/ZrgbVJLMQ5cRlN0iKcRyGaupdMiVVg7fgCK4BGAYYCw/s400/miller-spar%2B%25281%2529.png" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Picture amended for privacy reasons...</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />So it’s back into the bar to let the traffic subside, and Ubers booked into what passes for Solihull town centre. We’ve not been here before. Turns out there’s a reason. There’s not much. The Catholic church gathering over the road was about the 2nd most popular thing going on that we saw. Still, there is a Wetherspoons, so that’s Dukey happy at last. Few rounds in here and plans are hatched for the return home. The 2054 is agreed, but the problem now is where to get supplies for the journey. A local has told us that the Spar that we thought was closed is actually open but you have to order everything through a hatch after 8pm – are crime levels really that bad here?! – so Mr X is dispatched for the booze run, and after a Google Maps search we’ve found a chippy pretty much across the road from us. That’ll do, pig, that’ll do. So 4 Days and I load up with sausage and chips, Taz and Dukey pile in on the fried chicken that looks like it’s been sat there a while. Still, it’s chicken and it’s warm.<br /><br />The train arrives and it’s mercifully pretty much empty. Seems the QPR fans we saw this morning got out of West Bromwich sharpish after (or more likely, during) their 7-1 mauling at the Hawthorns and understandably so. Supplies are doled out, with Mr X complaining bitterly about only getting two pieces of chicken. Of course, this is returned to him later in spades when he can only finish the first piece before giving up and falling asleep for the rest of the journey.<br /><br />Back in London shortly before 11, we make a swift stroll to Baker Street and head to Victoria. Some of us go our separate ways, with Taz, Magnum and I heading to East Croydon and the rest heading back to Sutton.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-a-WMjee3Noo/W3pzAArk0CI/AAAAAAAAEpI/yI5adQCaOy0OphFvv3MKuJuriztw_vIkQCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20180818_203229.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-a-WMjee3Noo/W3pzAArk0CI/AAAAAAAAEpI/yI5adQCaOy0OphFvv3MKuJuriztw_vIkQCK4BGAYYCw/s400/20180818_203229.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Strip. Solihull.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />Fylde at home up next, who have been scoring for fun already this season, should be a belter. So of course I’ll be watching Southampton labour to a 1-1 draw against Leicester instead. Whose stupid idea was that?<br /><br />Steve<br /><br /><br /><i>Corrections Corner</i><br />In the last blog, it was alleged that Mr X confused Falklands veteran Simon Weston with recently-departed midfielder Simon Walton. Mr X wishes to clarify that it was in fact former Welsh international Rhys Weston he confused for the former soldier and not Walts. We are not happy to provide this clarification as it makes it seem as if we – or, rather, the editor – doesn’t fucking listen properly.<br /><div><br /></div>Gander Moniumhttps://plus.google.com/100970888492967679847noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9211878954912175436.post-6271503564555748482018-08-16T20:36:00.001+01:002018-08-16T20:38:19.667+01:00Fleeting PopularityPopularity. It can be a fleeting experience. Or so I'm told. Being ginger and a non-league football fan, I of course wouldn't have a fucking clue about such things but I am at least well advised by people who are experienced in such matters. It's also a feeling our beloved U's have come to know somewhat over the last couple of years. <br /><br /><a name='more'></a>One example of course being the respect and adoration of our peers we earned for making today's oppo Ebbsfleet look right bellends a couple of seasons back when we overhauled that 13pt lead to deny them the Conference South title. It seems if you make fools of moneyed clubs thinking they can stroll to rewards with little effort, then people can &amp; will take a shine to you, even if only temporarily.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bqdRw4pmdVI/W3XNyfVLhvI/AAAAAAAAEmY/wNhUjB_GyQsw-W_A1M58OtV4L8L8F018ACK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20180814_181023.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bqdRw4pmdVI/W3XNyfVLhvI/AAAAAAAAEmY/wNhUjB_GyQsw-W_A1M58OtV4L8L8F018ACK4BGAYYCw/s400/20180814_181023.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A lonely pint</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />Another such episode was Saturday's victory over National League new boys Salford. Having vomited up a couple of big fees for players and lobbing out wages the equivalent of our weekly budget for just 2 players alongside proclamations that they weren't intending to stick around for very long at this level, they rather surprisingly found themselves on the wrong side of that popularity thing. So naturally, our win despite having 10 men for half an hour was greeted somewhat favourably in the upper echelons of the Non-League game. It gave us a nice warm fuzzy feeling and we intend to enjoy it until it is naturally dissipated by the rest of the league taking offence to us not being pushovers ourselves and remembering we have a rubber based cancer carpet of a pitch that they don't like playing on.<br /><br />Thankfully this trip to the town formerly known as Gravesend has been placed on a Tuesday night, meaning we're not having to suffer its dullness on a Saturday and will no doubt get to go somewhere marginally more interesting. Still, at least we've got a game tonight. Spare a thought for the people of Chester whose football suffered a catastrophe of such magnitude that they've postponed their midweek clash with Kiddy and rumours abound that Bob Geldof is on his way North to setup the relief effort. I personally couldn't see what the fuss was about, as all it looked like to me was that their fucking roof leaked and a few ceiling tiles had fallen down. But then again, I will admit I'm not there on the ground experiencing the full horror of the situation, so who am I to judge?<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wrYNqocMufY/W3XOIXYnVoI/AAAAAAAAEmk/-msR9bO4MhYh5vUyMO2jwL_alz4sQLfHACK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20180814_185325.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wrYNqocMufY/W3XOIXYnVoI/AAAAAAAAEmk/-msR9bO4MhYh5vUyMO2jwL_alz4sQLfHACK4BGAYYCw/s400/20180814_185325.jpg" width="193" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Informative</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />Ebbs away is a piece of piss for me midweek. Two stops on the tube and I'm at St Pancs ready for the super duper fast train into this boring bit of Kent. Despite this, I still toss out of work half hour early to ensure I get to the Euston Flyer for a couple of liveners before catching the last possible service at just after 7pm/. This approach is endorsed by Steve and 4Days and having dodged some funny looking geezer giving away swigs of Mahou lager by the entrance, I find them in the pub already enjoying a pint around 6pm. Well, when I say 'find' I actually mean 'walked in, bought a pint, sat on my own, wondered where everyone else was for about 15-20 mins before messaging them and finding they were sat down the back'. Potato, poh-ta-toh. And given that my kindle has just run out of battery, I'm left with little choice but to socialise. We enjoy a couple of pints and a chat with Mr Moynehan, another proud citizen of the Republic before we eventually decide to head for the station. But not before the geezer offering free warm lager changes tack in his strategy and starts wandering round the boozer offering his wares off a tray instead. If the mountain won't come to Mohammed and all that I suppose. Most people seem to give him the same sort of short shrift as they had to the homeless lad who'd wandered in a few minutes before trying to bum some change. 4 Days and I chuckle at his hardship (Mr Mahou that is, not the homeless lad. We're not total wankers) given that we'd shared a joke in York about the rep selling that exact brand up there must be driving round in a pretty nice motor given the almost blanket availability of it in the watering holes we visited.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JkOAwNILf8k/W3XOJzAmRcI/AAAAAAAAEms/8nFE_5gU9K4Vs5R0_miG0zk48OqAo7stQCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20180814_192243.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JkOAwNILf8k/W3XOJzAmRcI/AAAAAAAAEms/8nFE_5gU9K4Vs5R0_miG0zk48OqAo7stQCK4BGAYYCw/s400/20180814_192243.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hashtag awaydays</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />Tickets secured as well as a sarnie for the trip from M&amp;S we make the train with a couple to spare and are soon speeding out through bits of Essex and into Kent. It seems our late departure is a popular plan as there's a few other smatterings of the old Amber dotted around the carriages including Bob, who like us knows what a waste of time this gaff is when it comes to a decent pint. With 20 mins to kick off we stroll to the ground, but for a moment our hopes of making kick off hang in the balance as we approach the ground, spotting the fact they've only bothered to open 2 turnstiles and the queue is snaking halfway along the back of the main stand. Fuck that. Instead we gamble on the 'away' turnstiles down the far end being open despite the game being unsegregated and head down there instead. Our confident strut must be infectious as we discover we've dragged about half the lengthy queue along in our wake when we get there!<br /><br />Inside, we find the rest of the travelling hordes awaiting kick off. Totts, Mr X &amp; Dukey, Greek, a couple of the COCs, some DILFs and a decent helping of the Dogging Club. Also here is Magnum PI, who I thought was out on some cloak and dagger undercover stakeout tonight, but I guess he's already bagged his man so he could make it along tonight. The boy makes the Mounties look half arsed. I'm mainly pleased to see him however as he's my lift home tonight. What?<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-izYpVqzg6xs/W3XOL7pqk6I/AAAAAAAAEm0/BvLRifNvAwQ3f3BRkVm7sO8R-00Y8UhJwCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20180814_192456.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-izYpVqzg6xs/W3XOL7pqk6I/AAAAAAAAEm0/BvLRifNvAwQ3f3BRkVm7sO8R-00Y8UhJwCK4BGAYYCw/s400/20180814_192456.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's not the destination, it's the journey</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><b><i>Butler, Bennett, Clough, Collins, Davis, Lafayette, Cadogan, Eastmond, Wishart, Taylor, Drinan SUBS: Beckwith, Bolarinwa, Ayunga, Brown, Wright</i></b><br /><br />The game starts at a bit of lick. We have a corner after barely a minute and when the hosts don't clear Kenny hooks a shot from the 18 yard line just wide of the mark. Any hopes that this is a statement of intent however are somewhat dispelled within a couple of minutes when their lively lad out wide is causing Dale problems and sticks in two decent crosses. The first to the back stick beats JB's dive but not Cloughie on the line, the second is nodded just over the bar. This kind of leads to a pattern for the first 20 or so. They do the attacking and we largely watch through our fingers waiting for the inevitable.<br /><br />Fortunately, it seems it's our night and we see off the initial spurt of pressure. Our first response comes from a quick break that sends Aaron away deep into their half. His touch takes him a little wide, but he still forces Ashmore to beat the shot away at his near post. From here, we slowly find our feet and get into the contest a lot more. Aaron has a header saved after a corner again isn't convincingly cleared and then a little from nowhere, we take the lead after about half an hour. A ball up the line is nodded on by Eastmond, it bounces behind him and as a defender tries to nod back to his keeper, he leaves it well short allowing Easty to nip it and loft it over Ashmore. He gets clattered for his trouble but the ball dribbles into the net with defenders not able to get back in time to clear.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0T-M07R7Tco/W3XOPkAlTUI/AAAAAAAAEm8/rQxVLobejcwopE2NbXqlmdqjHjx4t4dQQCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20180814_202509.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0T-M07R7Tco/W3XOPkAlTUI/AAAAAAAAEm8/rQxVLobejcwopE2NbXqlmdqjHjx4t4dQQCK4BGAYYCw/s400/20180814_202509.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Watching</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />The rest of the half is 50/50. They get forwards quite well, but seem to lack that killer edge in the final third. Having Kedwell wobbling about like some lad they've pulled off the terraces and stuck in a shirt (As one U's fan commented "Fuck me. And I thought I looked fat in my replica shirt!") isn't helping their cause. Nor is the usually annoyingly competent Michael Cheek mainly falling over anywhere near the ball. Still, just as we head towards the break, we almost mess it up. A corner tempts Butler into a punch and it doesn't go far. The ball is returned quickly and at pace and the retreating U's stopper has to dive to his right to push the shot round the post when it emerges from the crowd of players in front of him.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BAAI3y44MB0/W3XOnchyflI/AAAAAAAAEnQ/jg8DpjVFqPEP5pns6lyUyMqiTYIcWMnxQCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20180814_213924.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BAAI3y44MB0/W3XOnchyflI/AAAAAAAAEnQ/jg8DpjVFqPEP5pns6lyUyMqiTYIcWMnxQCK4BGAYYCw/s400/20180814_213924.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Congratulating</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />At the break, the Yoof faction reveal that they'd given up from watching at the far end before the turnaround as they simply couldn't handle the level of bantz directed their way. Well, when I say 'bantz', I mean one old bloke telling them to "Stop fucking swearing". To be honest I can't blame 'em, when you're faced with razor sharp repartee like that you're probably better off just admitting it's not your day and retiring quietly. I also nick one of Chalmers chips when he makes the mistake of standing next to me. Not a big deal normally, but on this occasion, I manage to pick out a right monster chip that is about a foot long and is making up roughly 1/3 of the volume of his portion Oops. Sorry mate! We also get a visit from a couple of familiar faces in Jeff, a home fan and Hazel, a 'friend of Non-League' who used to hang around at Thurrock before their untimely demise this summer. Jeff's not happy, it seems he'd sent me a message on Arsebook, asking where I was this evening, but I'd not replied. Mainly as I hadn't received it!<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ECAvQ9JpmTc/W3XOp3FIrxI/AAAAAAAAEnY/wPxtwf7-w3EQa39CX_FByI5IRRE2Ai9sgCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20180814_214050.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ECAvQ9JpmTc/W3XOp3FIrxI/AAAAAAAAEnY/wPxtwf7-w3EQa39CX_FByI5IRRE2Ai9sgCK4BGAYYCw/s400/20180814_214050.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Winning</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />The second half is another close run thing, but much like our win here at the arse end of last season, the hosts don't really create a huge amount despite having a fair bit of the ball. If anything, we look far more dangerous on the break. Drinan has another good chance, sent clear by a quick throw in he drags his shot across the face of goal. Wishart, who's looked a little lethargic this evening rattles the bar with a 25 yard free kick that has Ashmore waving it on it's way. Then the recently introduced Bolawinra guides a header a gnats chuff over after a great trademark surging run from Wish down the stand side. Elsewhere, Mr X confuses Falklands veteran Simon Weston with ex-midfielder Simon Walton, which I'm sure is something that happens to Walts all the time to be honest and the Yoot bemuse everyone with an odd chant about the EU. Out on the pitch, Mr Kedwell somehow manages to avoid getting hoicked and is rewarded with the full 90 again, which tends to suggest it's either condition of his contract or he's got some fucking properly dodgy pictures of the powers that be at Stonebridge Road. It's weird really, as every time we face them he's got more tanned and judging by his waistline he's more likely to worry the owner of the local all-you-can-eat 'World Buffet' than National League defences these days.<br /><br />The U's workrate starts to tell late on as we begin to sag deeper with every passing minute and the last 10 or so are spent once more peering out into the floodlit evening through our fingers. Thankfully though, we stick to the task, dig in and see out a couple of hairy moments. Then right at the death of added time, a free-kick in is wasted as a header loops harmlessly wide and after JB has pumped the ball skywards one last time, the ref calls it quits as a little game of head tennis breaks out in midfield. Job done! And after having waited something like 72 years for our first win here (don't quote us on that, we didn't research it), we've now managed two inside 5 league games spread over 4 months. Sweet!<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fjod6JTB4gM/W3XOro1850I/AAAAAAAAEng/vdvSXX3wN-I-SZlpD8FslZwHzTmLuQFEwCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20180814_214238.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fjod6JTB4gM/W3XOro1850I/AAAAAAAAEng/vdvSXX3wN-I-SZlpD8FslZwHzTmLuQFEwCK4BGAYYCw/s400/20180814_214238.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Leaving</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />Having rightly lauded the chaps for another fine battling win, we head back to the delights of Car Park C at Ebbsfleet International to try &amp; locate Magnum's Ferrari Ford Focus. And for once, I beat Steve to the punch on calling shotgun. What a night it's been! Having trundled out onto the main drag, we're soon heading home and attention turns to the results in that evening's Irn Bru Cup, mainly as we'll be coming into this ridiculous pot at the next stage. The general consensus seems to be we'd all like to play Queens Park at their compact and bijou sounding little gaff in Glasgow. Hampden Park it's called apparently. Sounds quaint, we're in! Then my phone makes a noise. Oh, it's Jeff's message coming though. Yeah, cheers Facebook, you bellends.<br /><br />Eventually, I'm dumped outside Gandermonium HQ and head indoors for a pre-slumber crumpet and whilst I munch, I'm left contemplating the main fact from tonight's win.<br /><br />Only 42 more points to go!<br /><br />Taz<br /><br />Tazhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13058062784601238593noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9211878954912175436.post-36267556066814310472018-08-12T11:59:00.003+01:002018-08-12T11:59:44.297+01:00Billy Big Bollocks Baloney“In this world one thing counts….In the bank, large amounts.”<br /><br />I’m a big fan of the old musicals me. Not the current half-arsed bollocks which is basically just a threadbare plot to stitch together an artists back catalogue so they can have another run round the houses milking the royalties. Nope, I’m talking about the stuff I grew up with as a kid blasting out from mum’s old valve radiogram and the one that remains the tops for me is 'Oliver!'<br /><br /><a name='more'></a>Ron Moody’s Fagin lecturing his gang of street urchins on the value of a shilling may not have been written by Lionel Bart as a metaphor for modern football but nearly sixty years on you can dust it off, open a non-league football blog with it and stand back and admire its prescience.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rvLOYOMyeR0/W3AQ911inLI/AAAAAAAAF4A/DFhrA2b5rHgnP-TUzizazFE-_G5LFbYXACEwYBhgL/s1600/IMG_20180810_161213.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rvLOYOMyeR0/W3AQ911inLI/AAAAAAAAF4A/DFhrA2b5rHgnP-TUzizazFE-_G5LFbYXACEwYBhgL/s400/IMG_20180810_161213.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A snip at 60k a year....</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />And so to today’s visitors Salford City and their galaxy of minted and connected backers. Does it matter? Maybe not, pumping some cash into a struggling local side and developing its community work and academy is undoubtedly a good thing, no argument with that, but it’s the incessant virtue signalling and media obsession that turns the Neville Neville, Giggsy Wiggsy, Butt and Scholes enterprise into a bit of a fucking circus that sticks in the throat.<br /><br />The arse-licking and infamous Sky documentary was a kind of a Love Island PR puff exercise where a group of ex ballers and their mate from Singapore fall in love with a lass from the other side of the tracks and spunk their money trying to doll her up to their expectations while shafting the mates who’ve helped her through the tough times along the way. Will it last or is just a fling?&nbsp; Only time will tell kids but I predict tear-stained mascara before bed time.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-FF6kmH3NSHY/W3AQ95qWNXI/AAAAAAAAF38/MeVb7ywliQ0QyC0b1A0NCGqo3Q0UWay1wCEwYBhgL/s1600/IMG_20180811_145026.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-FF6kmH3NSHY/W3AQ95qWNXI/AAAAAAAAF38/MeVb7ywliQ0QyC0b1A0NCGqo3Q0UWay1wCEwYBhgL/s400/IMG_20180811_145026.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Anticipation builds</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />And then there’s Adam Rooney. Leaving a team who finished second in the Scottish Prem for what has been basically presented as a life of charitable and missionary work on the mean streets of Salford – while a fat fee changes hands and he pumps up his salary to around four grand a week in the FIFTH TIER OF THE ENGLISH GAME!.&nbsp; You would need to have a heart of stone not to have enjoyed the row on Twitter over Rooney’s signing between Gary Nev and Accrington Chairman Andy Holt and I admire Gaz’s willingness to wade in and defend his position. Fair play son, but let’s be honest, if there was FFP at this level you wouldn’t be able to sling it around like Princess Margaret at a beach bar in Mustique with John Bindon.<br /><br />The general vibe that Salford are the chosen ones when it comes to the limited media coverage of the non-league game isn’t helped by the fact that the clowns who run the official National League social media platforms are so far up their arses they’ve had to write their names on the soles of their flip flops. The tweet this week that an away defeat for this newly promoted club at Gateshead two games in was “already the biggest upset of the season” was frankly fucking embarrassing.<br /><br />Anyway, all of this old flannel has added some spice to the pot as we revved up for the start of the season with Salford having any illusions that the National League would bend the knee to their omnificence shattered in their first two games while we had picked up four tidy points.&nbsp; Quick word about the trip to Harrogate, magnificent, great community club and a great town and they can be rightly proud that they have hauled their way into this division on hard work and merit.&nbsp; If you get a chance to pay them a visit, do it.&nbsp; The pie and peas is exceptional. Some of the best grub this side of Worcester Park.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7naG81tUwus/W3AQ99UGwBI/AAAAAAAAF34/ny_la8UneugDrknVqjzJsovk2JYet7UaQCEwYBhgL/s1600/IMG_20180811_152801.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7naG81tUwus/W3AQ99UGwBI/AAAAAAAAF34/ny_la8UneugDrknVqjzJsovk2JYet7UaQCEwYBhgL/s400/IMG_20180811_152801.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Standing room only.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />I’d run a <b><a href="https://twitter.com/bornatotter/status/1027447574075252736" target="_blank">bit of market research</a></b> mid-week to see exactly where the Gandermonium readership are at when it comes to content and was mildly surprised, well, not surprised at all actually, to find that Giggsy Wiggsy and his Salacious Sex Scandals topped the poll easily. The DBDC were all hoping Giggsy Wiggsy would put in an appearance for the match as it’s not often we are in a position to take the moral high ground when it comes to the old slithery business but the Welsh Wizard is one of the few who can leave the crew looking like a monastic order.<br /><br />So, match day arrives in West Sutton and I’ve got that feeling coursing through my veins that only the first Saturday home game of a new season can spark up. A quick bob up, a bit of the cricket and the clock has soon swung round to midday and it's time to get me gear on, sort out the match day essentials and head up GGL for some action.<br /><br />With the Plough still boarded up I opt to stop off at the Gander for a sharp livener and there's a a few faces around but it's quiet and most of the lunchtime punters are focussed in on the Spurs Newcastle game on the giant screen. A couple of the B Team are lurking about but there's no sign of any Salford let alone their celebrity owners despite the offer from the PROWS of a full cultural exchange visit.&nbsp; Their loss.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-060lBtmsspA/W3AQ-_2p4iI/AAAAAAAAF4E/mRFycfff0s00m17nDaigIK323oxU-osqACEwYBhgL/s1600/IMG_20180811_160806.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-060lBtmsspA/W3AQ-_2p4iI/AAAAAAAAF4E/mRFycfff0s00m17nDaigIK323oxU-osqACEwYBhgL/s400/IMG_20180811_160806.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Travelling hordes</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />Swinging through the gates of the club, and looking forward to a couple of cold Amstels, I'm waylayed by the Fear Family en route who are soaking up some rays in the car park.&nbsp; We have a natter about the plight of our former HQ the Plough and the prospects of it reopening as a bar come cultural centre for the myriad of creatives and hipsters on this manor. Doesn't sound promising if I'm being honest, especially at 60 grand a year rent, but it's still all to play for. I bet that lump of lard who owns Newcastle is eyeing the drum up but he'd do well to note that if there's one sort of strippers we don't want round these parts it's asset strippers. You've been warned pal.<br /><br />I have a quick scout around and Taz, Mr X and a few others are installed in the lounge and I even get handed an official team sheet before it's been broadcast. Knowledge is power and I take it outside to give the lads on the Tarmac the inside gen. the only change is Doug into the starting line up for Tombo.&nbsp; The Six Million Dollar Man is confirmed as up front for Salford. Who cares?&nbsp; This is West Sutton mate and we don't give a fuck for all that Billy Big Bollocks baloney.<br /><br />Soon enough Dirty Barry rocks up for a quick couple of scoops pre match in the bar to celebrate the latest research showing that drinking stops you going senile. I’m the living proof. I’m nearly sixty and I’ve been on the piss since 1977 and I’m as sharp as the crease in a pair of Sta Prest with an IQ the size of a fucking cricket score. If the medical profession want to do some advanced work on this important subject buy me a case of decent Rioja and stick me in front of University Challenge and watch me wipe the floor with those lazy student mugs.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OeMiA-0z2NA/W3AQ-1bCqjI/AAAAAAAAF4I/YjnPjwQnaQIg5POavxRcol6UDqdy2yOhQCEwYBhgL/s1600/IMG_20180811_162101.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OeMiA-0z2NA/W3AQ-1bCqjI/AAAAAAAAF4I/YjnPjwQnaQIg5POavxRcol6UDqdy2yOhQCEwYBhgL/s400/IMG_20180811_162101.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Half time lah-de</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />While we are on DB some Gandermonium readers would have been alarmed to hear that he took a “funny turn” on the train up to Harrogate last week. Apparently “going into a tunnel backwards” sends him all queezy and after trying to cool himself down with a cold can of 1664 pressed to his forehead – straight out of the Brownies First Aid badge that one - he disappeared off to the shitter for an inordinate length of time.&nbsp; I thought he might be dead. Would have been a blow but at least I would have got a double seat to myself for the trip home.&nbsp; Anyway, he dumped his guts somewhere between Donny and Wakefield and was looking fit and well and we hook up with Tom The Beard to assess the ninety minutes that lay ahead.<br /><br />But times marching on towards three o'clock and we amble round to the turnstiles to clock in and after exchanging pleasantries with Moley, Torchy, Frakey and a cast of thousands whose names all happen to end in Y we take up position on the Shoebox.&nbsp; The DILF's ranks are still a bit depleted but the Bacon's are back from their holidays and with segregation in place the famous terrace is well loaded for this one.<br /><br /><b><i>Butler, Bennett, Thomas, Clough, Collins, Davis, Lafayette, Cadogan, Eastmond, Wright, Wishart. SUBS: Beckwith, Bolwinra, Beautyman, Taylor, Drinan.</i></b><br /><br />Early exchanges are tentative, Salford haven't brought many but the fifty or sixty behind the goal are noisy and clearly excited to be visiting such a famous old club dripping in history and class. It's exactly the sort of game they would have been dreaming of over the past few years. We start off a bit too route one for me and although Ross is working his nuts off I would prefer us to be getting Wish and Doug into the game. Salford look comfortable with the old long ball which is no surprise.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ew8GL_9HFCo/W3AQ_bR9eiI/AAAAAAAAF4k/FphdAqFjocYfVIcal2FNDcODYMZKyNxDwCEwYBhgL/s1600/IMG_20180811_162151.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ew8GL_9HFCo/W3AQ_bR9eiI/AAAAAAAAF4k/FphdAqFjocYfVIcal2FNDcODYMZKyNxDwCEwYBhgL/s400/IMG_20180811_162151.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Winner winner...</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />The opening goal falls to the visitors as we are caught napping a bit from a corner and their fella nuts a free header into the corner of the net.&nbsp; It's a wake up call and we shake ourselves down and start to get going after Salford had the better of the first twenty minutes or so. Our equaliser is superb.&nbsp; With us now finally keeping the ball on the deck more some lovely play opens up a sight of goal for Easty and he bends it round the keeper cool as you like. We are on top rest of the half and go into the break in good shape as we check on scores from around the non league game and I fire up the old lucky laah de.<br /><br />Second 45 starts pretty much as we left off.&nbsp; Someone with better eye sight than me spots Gary Nev hanging out over by the Binatone Scoreboard and he's in good position to see what might have been a major turning point in the game, the Aswad red card. I can't see exactly what happened but Greek, with his notorious X Ray Specs, is convinced it's a wrong un but our lad don't turn around as he heads down the tunnel.&nbsp; Stamping apparently.&nbsp; It's a game changer, but not in the way you might expect.&nbsp; Skip is bandaged up like he's been hit with a sledgehammer and with Josh coming on and Wish dropping back we are in to one of those classic backs to the wall scenarios we all know and love.<br /><br />But here's the thing.&nbsp; The pressure is actually on Salford to make this stick and with Rooney looking blunter than a bag of wet mince against the mighty Charlie Clough they are huffing and puffing while Joshy is working his way into the game and it's his fine run that leads to the winner, taking on the City defence, carving them apart and setting up Ross for a well deserved goal.&nbsp; The Shoebox goes full on radio rental but we expect a nervous finale. Never happens, Aaron Drinan comes on and shows what an asset he is, bullying the lumpy Salford back line as they start hacking us about and arguing amongst themselves like kids in the playground.&nbsp; And we are loving it.&nbsp; If anyone's gonna score again it's us and although the oppo get a few corners we see out time easy enough and record an epic ten man victory against one of the most over hyped sides we've seen down here in a while.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-knUnKqueqmI/W3AQ_y2kyHI/AAAAAAAAF4w/txRPuaxts_cb-1wjWx1jPOf0grghFAqSwCEwYBhgL/s1600/IMG_20180811_165415.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-knUnKqueqmI/W3AQ_y2kyHI/AAAAAAAAF4w/txRPuaxts_cb-1wjWx1jPOf0grghFAqSwCEwYBhgL/s400/IMG_20180811_165415.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jubilation</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />I wander back round the bar with Lee and the Outlaw who leaves us to it. I see G Neville on the way through but I have to tell him I don't do selfies with wannabes. I know he's disappointed but he needs to learn this shit if he's going to get anywhere in life and anyway I need a pint.&nbsp; The bar is buzzing with all the old faces from the COC's and The Cocktail Crew although there's one tense moment when Bobby Bollocks fronts up the Duke for <b><a href="http://www.gandermonium.com/2018/08/anyone-for-garforth.html" target="_blank">calling out his mob as cretins</a></b> in the Harrogate blog.&nbsp; I step in before it gets heavy and smooth it all over, well, until Cheezee decides to get involved but I soon put him back in his box as well.<br /><br />Always on duty I warn Dr Bell it's not a great idea to throw your crutches in the air after a goal when you are on the Tom and Dick and there are TV cameras present.&nbsp; Fucking idiot. And soon we hear the call of a the broken kids accordion and AB is screaming his tits off and we are into the legendary Strikers Are Key draw for another season as celeb ball puller, the BBC's very own Jeremy Vine, is forced to stand on a chair in the middle of the bar to goading chants of "who the fucking hell are you?" Even better news,&nbsp; Chairman Bruce selects the correct key and dumps the wedge behind the jump, just when you thought the day couldn't get any better!<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rMe8ztD6aiY/W3ARAFw01II/AAAAAAAAF4s/gfwtCS6gOOQlddpgmxg67n2y7i5CRpXQACEwYBhgL/s1600/IMG_20180811_173242.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rMe8ztD6aiY/W3ARAFw01II/AAAAAAAAF4s/gfwtCS6gOOQlddpgmxg67n2y7i5CRpXQACEwYBhgL/s400/IMG_20180811_173242.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Alright mate, you're not on the fucking Radio now...."</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />Great stuff,&nbsp; I'm done after a couple of hours though and slide away down GGL for home happy as Larry and looking forwards to Tuesday night in Gravesend. Which I don't believe anyone's ever said before in the history of mankind.<br /><br />See you there kids!<br /><br />Totts<br /><div><br /></div>Gander Moniumhttps://plus.google.com/100970888492967679847noreply@blogger.com0Borough Sports Ground, Sutton51.367172174020538 -0.203933715820312551.364693674020536 -0.20897621582031251 51.369650674020541 -0.19889121582031249tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9211878954912175436.post-27389739218313203982018-08-10T22:42:00.003+01:002018-08-10T22:42:19.785+01:00Je meprise ce crapaud odieux Rock et EastleighPreviously in Gandermonium and Sutton United terms, we all safely made it back from Yorkshire and no one got on the wrong train heading home, yes Dukey I am talking about you. An event which I hope has been fully covered in his blog. If not, just ask anyone of us for the story and how we made a carriage laugh at the Duke's misfortune.<br /><br /><a name='more'></a>Also on the subject of last week, an ex work colleague of mine, Mr Ramsey, has a cousin who is a Harrogate supporter. Mr Ramsey always likes to try &amp; wind me up about Sutton United and he says his cousin informed him we were lucky.&nbsp; Ok I can agree to some aspect of that given we had to earn our point with a last minute penalty, but Harrogate are a good side and a few will have difficulties against them this season. A nice place and ground too.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-x3CD_LRrkAk/W24EnofQOKI/AAAAAAAAElc/4feKiaih2OQ6E6LILCVxP4Uwo5yeiWIlgCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/20180807_194136.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-x3CD_LRrkAk/W24EnofQOKI/AAAAAAAAElc/4feKiaih2OQ6E6LILCVxP4Uwo5yeiWIlgCK4BGAYYCw/s400/20180807_194136.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Big bad</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />Whilst looking at matters of a previous nature I would like to extend a personal tribute to Barry Chuckle, one half of the famous Chuckle Brothers.&nbsp; If you are someone in your mid-20s to late 30s then you will more than likely have grown up with this pair – to me, to you! So lets move on to the matter in hand, this lot (Eastleigh)! For some bizarre reason I agreed to sign up to do the blog against this lot and to bring an additional touch of continental flavour I add a dose of French. My title reads “I despise that odious toad Rock and Eastleigh”.&nbsp; Yes readers, not only does yours truly have a Grade B at A level English but I also have a GCSE Grade C in French too! We at Gandermonium are a multi-lingual bunch, don't look so surprised! But I am sure every man, woman, child and dog (sly reference to the DBDCthere) knows by now how much I despise Eastleigh and to top off the occasion, who do I see in charge for tonight’s game – none other than everyone’s favourite referee David Rock.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-62MK3zHL75U/W24Erz9ht6I/AAAAAAAAElk/fjsbr4tGabobLrIv3-9BKUdLDe1G_O75wCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/IMG_0794.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-62MK3zHL75U/W24Erz9ht6I/AAAAAAAAElk/fjsbr4tGabobLrIv3-9BKUdLDe1G_O75wCK4BGAYYCw/s400/IMG_0794.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Boo! Hiss!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />After a hard day’s graft working at home, I decide to call upon an Uber to take myself to the ground.&nbsp; Upon arrival to the bar, I notice Mr X, Dave Burgers, Millwall Terry and various others.&nbsp; However, there appears to be only three members of staff working behind the bar and the bar in the Times Square lounge is closed.&nbsp; Half Time Steve and his son Ryan arrive shortly and we decide to decamp into the air conditioned Times Square lounge as the players bar is still far too hot.&nbsp; To my horror what do I discover wandering around our bar – Eastleigh fans – what the hell!!! Now the thing is when we go to their ground we are not allowed anywhere near their bar and are made to feel like second rate citizens being told where to go and not go.&nbsp; The mere fact they are but let alone being in our bar really does annoy me and then I discover the game is not segregated – honestly!!!<br /><br />Spotting Beckwith, Mark we discuss another odious toad known as Thibaut Courtois – and we both agree it would be good if he was made to train with the kids to deny him his 'dream' move to Real Madrid.&nbsp; I go through the astounding sight of Eastleigh fans in our bar with him and decide to head out to the ground.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3Nr68NSBebA/W24EuhhMf7I/AAAAAAAAEls/bsl5v3al8JQiRbVtMCZ_uW0oBboutWiegCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/IMG_0797.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3Nr68NSBebA/W24EuhhMf7I/AAAAAAAAEls/bsl5v3al8JQiRbVtMCZ_uW0oBboutWiegCK4BGAYYCw/s400/IMG_0797.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Action</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><b><i>The team is set as follows:-Butler [GK], 2. Bennett, 3. Aswad T, 5. Clough, 6. The JC [skipper], 8. Davis, 15. Eastmond, 21. Wishart, 7. Tombo, 20. Tommy Wright, 9. Lafayette</i></b><br /><br />It is actually a nice summer’s evening but the forecast is for heavy rain for later, more about that later.&nbsp; As I approach to stand at the Collingwood Rec end I note their fans have not moved – blimey this lot really are special. I stand next to Belly and I inform him of the Dukey train moment from Saturday which he did not know about.&nbsp; Belly though, down to the one crutch, was sprung into action when a shot from Tommy Wright was just high above the bar and the ball thus bounced towards Belly’s direction who palms it back onto the pitch to their keeper Stack of previous Arsenal and Barnet history. After a dull start, once we actually started playing a bit of football, it was obvious they would struggle.&nbsp; So much that Tombo ran into the box to be brought down and a penalty awarded by Rock (OMG, he actually gave us a penalty).&nbsp; The JC, akin to Saturday at Harrogate, calmly slotted the ball into the back of the net, 1-0! In fact the same scoreline is now that of between Half Time Steve and I to see how many goals we miss when heading to the bar before half time – to be honest to the chap, tonight might be a good idea due to the lack of staff mentioned above.&nbsp; However, upon 38/39 minutes I make my way there and HTS has kindly done the works and got the beers in.&nbsp; Our goal did not stop them (Eastleigh fans) from starting on people yet again – Millwall Terry sadly getting the brunt of them – they really are pain in the arse.<br /><br />As we drink, one of their lot (Eastleigh) comes storming through the Times Square Lounge and has a moan about our bar and I quote “what a sh!t club” so I mouth back “so is yours” – if he had come back in I would have said “well you shouldn’t be in here anyway”. The cheek of such vileness! The second half arrives and what is this – something we have forgotten about, yes readers rain and I am not just talking a light shower I mean this is a proper downpour. I actually am enjoying this, so much that I do not mind getting soaked standing on The Shoebox; but more importantly it’s another 45 minutes of enduring that lot in our ground.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YplQgScchnQ/W24ExAQoVOI/AAAAAAAAEl0/lWFRgiNgQ5Q486tQ99i-oAeDSTFUR_KKgCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/IMG_0798.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YplQgScchnQ/W24ExAQoVOI/AAAAAAAAEl0/lWFRgiNgQ5Q486tQ99i-oAeDSTFUR_KKgCK4BGAYYCw/s320/IMG_0798.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Skip tucks away the peno</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />Infact without going in to too much detail there was a lack of second half action, and they barely created a chance. Even in injury time Stack came forward but was unable to connect.&nbsp; It was a good defensive display from the boys at the back, although we are yet to score a goal from open play and for the benefit of Strikers Are Key (SAK) a centre forward. Still, plenty of games to go to get that sorted. Now remember before how I mentioned they (Eastleigh) did not move, well they stay stood in the same place for the second half – they really are a special bunch.&nbsp; I take a nice cheeky shot of their allocation with somebody’s fingers (ok I admit they are mine) directed at them. As the final whistle approaches I slowly make my way over to where they are and let out a loud cheer in their direction.&nbsp; Thankfully it’s the end of that lot at our place for another season – well hopefully we do not draw them in the FA Trophy or FA Cup!<br /><br />An attendance of 1725 was there to witness what was really a dull game overall.&nbsp; For statisticians’ purposes, the substitutions were Drinan on for Tommy Wright on 75 minutes, Cadogan on for Tombo on 78 minutes and Josh Taylor on for Davis on 87 minutes. There were no bookings for us surprisingly!<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LoPoXumfyDM/W24E56jI7WI/AAAAAAAAEl8/QB9Q4ZWeI-shsIXokJ2EHK6sL9wCWdP_gCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/IMG_0799.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LoPoXumfyDM/W24E56jI7WI/AAAAAAAAEl8/QB9Q4ZWeI-shsIXokJ2EHK6sL9wCWdP_gCK4BGAYYCw/s400/IMG_0799.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Under lights</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />To walk into the bar, we all look to dry off as The Shoebox lot of us are literally soaked to the bone, and it’s a quiet assessment of the evening's events, it is a school night after all!&nbsp; To be honest, not only was I grateful for the rain (having scoliosis in a heatwave does not help) and its nice knowing THEY will be disappearing. I only stay around for around 45 minutes after and walk out into GGL to hail an Uber.&nbsp; However, Kiddo spots me and kindly offers to give me a lift home – thank you kind sir.<br />Thoughts now turn to Saturday against Salford City and their money driven “fairy tale” honestly it is just banal media love-ins why they get so much exposure. However, what I will say to end on a positive note is that I am sure we would be grateful that four points out of six is a good return for the first couple of games after a (in my eyes) slightly poor pre-season.<br /><br />Wise men say……<br /><br />Robbo<br /><div><br /></div>Gander Moniumhttps://plus.google.com/100970888492967679847noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9211878954912175436.post-53453627898319902832018-08-06T20:51:00.000+01:002018-08-12T08:54:41.851+01:00Anyone for Garforth?Thank fuck the season has finally arrived! I don't know why, possibly the freakin' hot weather recently, but this year's pre-season has been about as exciting as a Jeremy Corbyn audio sex tape. Despite this, the Gandermonium blogs are getting more views than those that bothered to attend the actual matches.&nbsp; Fuck knows why. But it doesn't matter now, because the start of the 'real' season is upon us.<br /><br /><a name='more'></a>And where are we playing? Well, and you'll have to ask Frakey to confirm this, but for the first time since Boston United beat us 3-1 back in 1988, we are away on the opening day in the GM Vauxhall Conference. Not only that. but we also get to play the virgins of Harrogate Town, who after a mere 14 years in the Conference North, 'The Sulphurites' are finally in the big time. Well, at least the non-league big time that is. Also if you're one of the COC's, then <b><a href="http://www.gandermonium.com/2014/08/the-long-and-winding-road.html" target="_blank">Maidenhead</a></b> away back in 2014 was the actual last away day opening fixture. Massive in-joke: I've been biting my lip all season to say that. You Cretin!<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Kaldq3P5Xlc/W2xrd20aQII/AAAAAAAAFXw/TUMRdZOpENkDQLhkKaS7_D1t41q6i6MWgCEwYBhgL/s1600/WP_20180803_048.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Kaldq3P5Xlc/W2xrd20aQII/AAAAAAAAFXw/TUMRdZOpENkDQLhkKaS7_D1t41q6i6MWgCEwYBhgL/s400/WP_20180803_048.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hours of fun for drunken idiots...</td></tr></tbody></table><br />What is also surprising, was that us at Gandermonium managed to get our arses into gear and actually organise ourselves properly. Well, as far as Mr "I booked us all on tables" X sorting out return train tickets to Leeds that is. That's because somehow we'd decided to do two nights to celebrate the new season. Oh yes, that's right, two whole nights. On the piss. Us. That's never gone wrong before, has it? Well, apart from.....<br /><br />It was also a shame to see two great talismans of the club leave us this week <i><span style="color: #38761d;">(Last fucking week by the time you got this up you twat! - Ed).</span></i> First we had Simon Downer, who'd failed to get his fitness back up to a level he felt necessary and has decided to call it a day at the club. How can we ever forget the time he took a spin in goal at&nbsp;<b><a href="http://www.gandermonium.com/2017/02/double-tourque.html" target="_blank">Torquay</a>? </b>After Worner was forced off with a injury early into the match, who else would put on the gloves but our man Downs! Plus, What about some of his tackles? Maybe he should have stuck to 'keeping? And need I mention red cards? There were a couple of classics, so much so that to be "Downer'd" enter the Gandermonium lexicon <i><span style="color: #38761d;">(Someone remind me to add that by the way? - Ed)</span></i>. I will also remember that it was he that had the players over to shake the hands of the Barrow <strike>9</strike>&nbsp;13 who had made the trip up North last season. And the goal against Wealdstone in that 4-3 thriller? All memorable. Cheers boss.<br /><br />The other player who has also departed, needs no introduction, mainly because it is THE Legend that is Dundo. The DJ. The Caribbean Curly Toe. The Big Man. The boss. The geezer who told me to put all that. What was it? Only the eighth Sutton player ever to reach 500 appearances? Even less that that for 500 appearances and 100 goals? Not too sure how long the club have included friendlies into the stats, but what an achievement for anyone at this level and in these times especially. I remember last year he was asked what his best goal was, and I think he had remarked the one at <b><a href="http://www.gandermonium.com/2015/12/no-supervision-no-regulation.html" target="_blank">Concord</a></b> that obviously was never filmed thank to the pikey locals. And who else can forget his red card at Lowestoft? Apart from all of us that is, as we were shitfaced.&nbsp; And before anyone asks, I'm currently in high-level negotiations to have the mural changed next to The Shoebox, That is, trying to get it altered for nothing by the Brother-in-Law. What? All we need is a number changing and an 'exit' sign adding!<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Y-8_MiXxtnQ/W2xrCGhwTEI/AAAAAAAAFTg/ecMvH-KUeG4jWWU7wZb6WTxkzIgEdPX5gCEwYBhgL/s1600/WP_20180803_005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Y-8_MiXxtnQ/W2xrCGhwTEI/AAAAAAAAFTg/ecMvH-KUeG4jWWU7wZb6WTxkzIgEdPX5gCEwYBhgL/s400/WP_20180803_005.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Standard fare...</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><b><u>Friday</u></b><br /><b><u><br /></u></b>It's just before lunchtime on Friday and already, me &amp; Robbo are making our way up town. The 1119hrs train from Carshalton is actually running and is on time. Fuckin' miracle! And as the clock strikes twelve we're already disembarking at St Pancras. With ninety minutes to the train there is nothing for it but to seek out somewhere for a drink. O'Neill's seems to be the easiest option and we head to there.<br /><br />People begin to arrive and it seemed that nearly a dozen of us were going to be flying the Gandermonium banner this weekend. The plan was simple enough, Head up to Leeds, a short stop over (purely for refreshments) and then onto York for a night on the town. What could go wrong? With everyone present and correct, we head for our train. Although some of us were sent to the wrong platform beforehand.<br /><br />Finding our seats, and surprisingly we actually have a couple of tables for a change! Settling down for the journey and you could see a distinct difference from the veterans to some our more newer members. I mean, who the fuck brings Sushi onto the train for a weekender? A couple of beers is of course fine, or a few cans of those under strength mixers that Taz likes is perfect, but a piece of raw fish? Go figure!<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QBy5d8FP5Ac/W2xq_OHugpI/AAAAAAAAFX4/3Iih3Ou8RLc-5DY3jqbX46q-BvG5cqn-wCEwYBhgL/s1600/WP_20180803_001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QBy5d8FP5Ac/W2xq_OHugpI/AAAAAAAAFX4/3Iih3Ou8RLc-5DY3jqbX46q-BvG5cqn-wCEwYBhgL/s400/WP_20180803_001.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not standard fare...</td></tr></tbody></table><br />A nice journey up was only filled with the talk of us trying to work out how we're going to make as many games as possible this season. But it's all about the Irn-Bru Cup. And when I say it can fuck up our season, it can really fuck up our season. But that's for another time and we arrive in Leeds and head straight for your Duke's favourite pub chain. 'Spoons!<br /><br />Couple of beers down and it's time to head to York. Some people decided to grab some food for the journey and we all seem to split up. Knowing what platform we need to be on, I head toward it and see Robbo getting on the lift down. Lightweight! With plenty of people on the platform awaiting the train I try to find some space.<br /><br />The train arrives and I get on, Not seeing anyone around, I assume that they've bolted onto another carriage given we're grabbing nosh for the trip. The doors close and we are about to depart when there is a light tap on the window. It's Taz, behind him I see Mr X, Pete the Perv, The Firm Leader and several others. What are they doing on the platform? Why are they not on the train?<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-HYLPcaSmXR4/W2xrFe20rJI/AAAAAAAAFYE/kKQzCiNqkeIdw1M4Ra-dHOJ3iQPzAglaQCEwYBhgL/s1600/WP_20180803_008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-HYLPcaSmXR4/W2xrFe20rJI/AAAAAAAAFYE/kKQzCiNqkeIdw1M4Ra-dHOJ3iQPzAglaQCEwYBhgL/s400/WP_20180803_008.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Getting on the (wrong) train...</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Fuck! I haven't have I? Soon there is an announcement "Welcome to the train to Hull..." What? Fuckin' Hull? Jesus, I WAS on the wrong train. Bollocks! Looking at the map above the door I saw that the only stop after Leeds that could possibly head to York was somewhere called Garforth. So having been waved off by the rest of the crew, that was where I had to head to. Wherever the fuck Garforth actually was.<br /><br />Jumping off at Garforth I notice that there was also three other people that got off and were waiting on the platform. Knowing that the rest were on the <i>right </i>train and it would soon be booming its way through the station, I decide to take my rude gestures from the <i>right</i> train like a man and hide. To add insult to injury, my connecting train is delayed. So with time to spare I decide to take a little wander around. Some sightseeing if you will.<br /><br />Two choices lay before me, head out to the left or to the right. I decide to stay on the right side and head off in that direction. And the only thing I found was a Tesco's, so grabbing a cheeky can of piss poor lager, I continue on but find nothing else about. Turns out later, that if I'd gone left I would've found the high street and a bloody 'Spoons! FML! I couldn't believe it.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JHU1XhW7fGc/W2xrFG4SOSI/AAAAAAAAFYI/xhY8oQ6Nhpw6nAyASi8QxRWm8ROowvEOgCEwYBhgL/s1600/WP_20180803_009.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JHU1XhW7fGc/W2xrFG4SOSI/AAAAAAAAFYI/xhY8oQ6Nhpw6nAyASi8QxRWm8ROowvEOgCEwYBhgL/s400/WP_20180803_009.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Garforth...</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Arriving fashionably late into York, I head off to the hotel. I also spot those few people that got off at Garforth with me. So it just wasn't me then! Bumping into Sean Connery's Stuntman &amp; Indy en-route, they inform me that everyone is in the pub and <strike>laughing at</strike> waiting for me. Checking in, I dump my bag. A liberal splosh of Brut and I'm off to the first pub in York. "The Mount" is where the boys are at and it's here that I'm laid into for my misadventures. fair play, I earned it.<br /><br />Despite everyone having enough drink to sink an elephant already, we soon are heading off in York for several more beers. Plenty more pubs are checked off. Let's see if we can remember then all: The Windmill, The Punch Bowl, The Artful Dodger Bar, The Kings Arms, The Golden Fleece, Pivní &amp; Evil Eye to name but a few.<br /><br />Pivní was the last 'pub' of the night and probably the most memorable. That's because the four of us that didn't go home, get lost or went to Popworld, found a game that suited our sort of late night intelligence. It was simple enough, have a twenty pence piece stay on top of a lemon floating in a jug of water for five seconds to earn a free pint. Simples? Well, not for us, dread to think how much money we lost on that little attraction, but we never managed to get it to stay onto for more than a second. Even despite some of us trying to create grooves in the lemon.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2sp3I30L9BY/W2xrSOm92QI/AAAAAAAAFUM/T01cnAFK9aQPQeLYCiSOgc2gBi9TfZetACEwYBhgL/s1600/WP_20180803_031.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="901" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2sp3I30L9BY/W2xrSOm92QI/AAAAAAAAFUM/T01cnAFK9aQPQeLYCiSOgc2gBi9TfZetACEwYBhgL/s400/WP_20180803_031.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'll leave then...</td></tr></tbody></table><br />With time running out we headed off towards a back street Gin Palace. And I'll have to say that all that craft shite is wasted on me. The various Vodka &amp; Orange drinks I tried, all tasted surprisingly like Vodka &amp; Orange. I think we all knew it might be time to call it a night when a young lady was sick in the corner next to the toilets and nonchalantly walked off. And the smell, very pungent!<br /><br />Naturally it's time for food. 4 Days &amp; Taz head for a McDonald's they spot. As for me &amp; Mr X it's time to shine as I prove once again that I'm clearly the most progressive, the most tolerant &amp; all round inclusive individual in Gandermonium. And one way to do this is at none other than a dirty Kebab trailer I'd spotted earlier. Looking at the menu, it's not long before I know what I want. Oh yes because we're going to rock the boat with a Northern Classic of Chips &amp; Gravy. Naturally mixed with doner kebab and salad! Talk about bring cultures together. It almost makes me regret Brexit.<br /><br />It was lovely of course! We eventually catch up with 4 Days &amp; Taz. It's not long before we're back at the hotel. But, it did seem that the four of us could not all go up in the lift together. Weight issues apparently. So we turf off the heaviest and make Mr X walk up the stairs instead. The Firm Leader is not long in after me and he seems to have enjoyed his little jaunt into his youth at Popworld. Mainly due to the trays of Jaegerbombs on offer it would seem.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-F1eLWC3XeoE/W2xrrBL5V5I/AAAAAAAAFX4/Tvz2-w75BSkAZd0UiKQQ3lCU6CJU63ljQCEwYBhgL/s1600/WP_20180804_007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-F1eLWC3XeoE/W2xrrBL5V5I/AAAAAAAAFX4/Tvz2-w75BSkAZd0UiKQQ3lCU6CJU63ljQCEwYBhgL/s400/WP_20180804_007.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fusion food, right there...</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><b><u>Saturday</u></b><br /><b><u><br /></u></b>It's morning and we head down for some breakfast. To be fair it wasn't that good. the bacon was a touch too chewy and the eggs were as tasteless as one of my jokes. But at least I ate mine. Turns out that Taz came downstairs a little worse for wear and only managed a bit of toast before admitting that he was going back to bed. He reckons it was a posoinous, salty cheeseburger from the night before that did it. Well, this would be the first time that I can say that he'd be better off with a dirty doner from a wagon. First time I've ever heard of an over-seasoned cheeseburger from McDonald's as well.<br /><br />Everyone (except Taz) gets ready and heads off to the station. Having to buy our tickets, and being a little late, me and The Firm Leader then get stuck behind some Chinese tourists as they try to work out how the ticket machines work. Eventually they just give up and fuck off. I just about manage to grab us a pair of tickets before heading off to some little two carriage rattler that makes us wish that Dr Beeching had fucked these off as well as all the branch lines.<br /><br />I'm wasn't that surprised that there was only one an hour to Harrogate and on this ex-bus carriage you not only had a driver but a ticket collector in each carriage. So much for getting a ticket. And the one in our carriage hardly lifted a finger before fuckin' off at Harrogate. Most of the train journey appeared to consist mainly of how much tea we all could spill between us.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YKAtbHQ_GLg/W2xrBwN9GnI/AAAAAAAAFX4/90f-AxhRUNsPVWGf7d_NcMipQw-HW-pgACEwYBhgL/s1600/WP_20180803_004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YKAtbHQ_GLg/W2xrBwN9GnI/AAAAAAAAFX4/90f-AxhRUNsPVWGf7d_NcMipQw-HW-pgACEwYBhgL/s400/WP_20180803_004.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rolling stock...</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Arriving at Harrogate and we head off to find our Hotel. Apparently called Premier Inn Harrogate Central, it's a walk and a half to find and worryingly there wasn't many pubs en route. We eventually find the damned thing and then have to wait for some service so we could all dump our bags as the rooms weren't ready. Eventually with that all done, we then take another long route back towards town.<br /><br />With me leading the troops, we come across "The Winter Gardens" and as luck would have it, it's a 'Spoons! Imagine that, me finding the 'Spoons! And it's a fancy little fucker with a immensely dangerous staircase to boot. Few beers later, and bearing witness to a walking tour that actually came through the pub, other Sutton fans start to arrive for the big day. Not only were the Yoof here, but the Oxides were making an appearance too!<br /><br />Finding out through the use of social media, we discover here the meet is going to be. We hang around until Taz finally arrives. When he does, we have another beer for luck and begin another uphill struggle to where we need to be. And once again we fail to find any pubs. Well, pubs in the sense of 'pubs'.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-OJlrgzym69M/W2xrwpsLtMI/AAAAAAAAFXw/pS6vapMJPcsEX5uMm8cWsVseakFWd8GwQCEwYBhgL/s1600/WP_20180804_013.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-OJlrgzym69M/W2xrwpsLtMI/AAAAAAAAFXw/pS6vapMJPcsEX5uMm8cWsVseakFWd8GwQCEwYBhgL/s400/WP_20180804_013.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Tap...</td></tr></tbody></table><br />When we get to the Harrogate Tap, there are plenty of the Amber &amp; Chocs about with the DBDC &amp; COCs already outside with beer in hand. This station boozer is one of those beardy-weirdy places that doesn't serve well known stuff. So it was a picture to see when the Firm Leader nearly went for a pint of 9% Chocolate Marshmallow flavour Porter. I think most people tried and hated it. Well, all except Alfie...<br /><br />More and more people soon arrived, well it's a new ground after all. The Burgers, Ozzie &amp; even the B-Team rocked up after dumping their mini-bus at there digs. In Bradford of all places! With plenty of numbers in one spot, it soon became a worry that the sherbets would be a little lacking in numbers. So some of us decided to walk the mile towards the ground. Which was a touch as when we came to leave, there were fuck all cabs to be had!<br /><br />A nice enough walk that has you cut through a open space not much seen back home these days. Eventually you come across the ground and groups of people outside trying to get their last nicotine fix before entering the non-smoking hell hole that was to be our home for the next hour and a half. Don't care, but any club that doesn't let you smoke or even come outside at half-time can lose a point in their ratings in my book.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ocNEkfF9ljw/W2xsGs8cTuI/AAAAAAAAFXw/fBUPv0sdGwAH6d7hgLczsard8WpBXFL8gCEwYBhgL/s1600/WP_20180804_039.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ocNEkfF9ljw/W2xsGs8cTuI/AAAAAAAAFXw/fBUPv0sdGwAH6d7hgLczsard8WpBXFL8gCEwYBhgL/s400/WP_20180804_039.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">'Spoons-style staircase...</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Surprisingly, entering the ground and passing over the money, you don't get a match ticket and even more surprising was seeing that the fella that took the money didn't write down any tally or anything. Now unless he's got an exceptional memory, I can't say that I 'm too happy about that. The ground itself is nice looking except that the club bar was a no-go due to the heat inside. This was despite the Chairman risking it in full blazer and tie.<br /><br />Also I gather that the solitary snack wagon got an indifferent vote. According to Chairman Totts, The pie with the addition of mushy peas were first rate and even the 'burger wellington &amp; Red wine gravy' was lovely. But everyone that had the 'town burger' were somewhat disappointed. oh well, onto the match...<br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LEvSzm7aMcc/W2xr86LhYuI/AAAAAAAAFX0/CBb8NPjtDaomD6EqFuoT-FlGdFMdadtdQCEwYBhgL/s1600/WP_20180804_028.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LEvSzm7aMcc/W2xr86LhYuI/AAAAAAAAFX0/CBb8NPjtDaomD6EqFuoT-FlGdFMdadtdQCEwYBhgL/s400/WP_20180804_028.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First half view...</td></tr></tbody></table><b><u><br /></u></b><b><i>Butler, Bennett, Thomas, Eastmond, Clough, Collins, Bolarinwa, Bailey, Lafayette, Beautyman, Taylor. Bench Warmers: Beckwith, Davis, Wright, Wishart, Drinan.</i></b><br /><b><i><br /></i></b>Sutton's start to their first match of the season was very much like the pre-season. We seemed a little laboured and took a long time to get going. So much so that Harrogate had most of the opening chances. Several times, Thomas was left for dead in the left back position as this became the biggest area of threat. I lost count of the amount of balls that sailed across the goal mouth. Some where actually met by a Harrogate player an one even watched as his header came off the post.<br /><br />Eventually Sutton were to get back into the match. With Bolarinwa on the right, our main threat came with his pace.At one point the Harrogate keeper came right to the edge of his box to deal with a high ball. So much so that his momentum took him outside. WELL outside. You could tell he thought he was out of the box, just by his reaction. He dropped the ball and tried to look all innocent like. And despite this, nothing is given by the man in the middle. Or the lino. What a way to start a season, with inept officials.<br /><br />Sutton did eventually get the breakthrough. Bolarinwa once again terrorised the left back and managed to get round him at the by-line, the inevitable happened except the defender catches him before he reaches the box. A yellow card is displayed and Thomas steps up to take the kick. After a pause for the ref to sort out a spot of argy-bargy, the ball is whipped into the centre of the box. The Salmon to leap highest was none other than Mr Clough. And his bullet of a header took it over the keeper in the back of the net. <b>1-0! </b>One person to react was the steward that stood for most of the half in front of us, stopping anyone from standing on the perimeter. His reaction was only noticed later on, but the photo of him shitting himself as the ball bulged the net, is something to be behold. Check it out for yourself if you don't believe us!<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0SJLPVZGNcQ/W2xr8cycvMI/AAAAAAAAFX0/XlpWnwTfKUs4GIcmR7U0nZu17yDx9tJIACEwYBhgL/s1600/WP_20180804_027.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="901" height="400" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0SJLPVZGNcQ/W2xr8cycvMI/AAAAAAAAFX0/XlpWnwTfKUs4GIcmR7U0nZu17yDx9tJIACEwYBhgL/s400/WP_20180804_027.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If it was open, here's what you could've had...</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Half-time came with Sutton still in the lead. Forgoing the traditional half-time round, as the bar was hotter than my arse after a curry, we begin to head towards the other end of the ground. You first had to negotiate a wayward sprinkler that appeared to get most of the ground behind the goal covered in a mist of water. Talk about a local shower...<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-kiLpbu2EFMs/W2xsDu8jsVI/AAAAAAAAFX8/GlixLHvyRNc3J6CKbebjRig4Nl8QdqCyQCEwYBhgL/s1600/WP_20180804_035.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-kiLpbu2EFMs/W2xsDu8jsVI/AAAAAAAAFX8/GlixLHvyRNc3J6CKbebjRig4Nl8QdqCyQCEwYBhgL/s400/WP_20180804_035.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Local thunderstorms...</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Second half and the game started even lower than the first. On the hour mark, Harrogate were given a golden egg. Trying to save a weak shot, Butler manages to spill the ball and give the fella the easiest of tap-ins. We try and change things up with Drinan &amp; Wright coming on for Bennett &amp; Lafayette, but to no avail. Things take a turn for the worse when out of another cross Harrogate take the lead with a free header. Wishart soon comes on and we soon have a penalty shout as Bolarinwa is caught in the box. But nothing is given by the fuckwit of a ref.<br /><br />With time fast running out, it seemed that our first game of the season was going to end in defeat. A last throw of the dice had a Collins flick-on head to the back of the six yard box. Beautyman goes up to head the ball, but he's blocked by an arm of a Harrogate player. Penalty! But wait, the ref seems unconvinced, still, a look at the linesman and he finally blows his whistle and points to the spot. Why it took him so long as he was closer than the lino and had a better view in the first place is beyond me.<br /><br />Up steps up Captain Fantastic and people wait to see what happens next. Well, most people as The Firm Leader is gripped by his "penaltyophbia" and looks away. Why he has to squat behind the advertising hoarding is something you'll have to ask him though. Calm as you like, Collins smashes the ball to the keepers right. From my view it looked like the keeper had saved it, but it rocks the net and we can mad.<b>&nbsp;2-2!</b><br /><b><br /></b><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LZjMkHmXu_U/W2xsF2b2AEI/AAAAAAAAFXs/5zqkHvMN9I0J-3NNN6P2_tD74CY55u8NwCEwYBhgL/s1600/WP_20180804_038.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LZjMkHmXu_U/W2xsF2b2AEI/AAAAAAAAFXs/5zqkHvMN9I0J-3NNN6P2_tD74CY55u8NwCEwYBhgL/s400/WP_20180804_038.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Second half view...</td></tr></tbody></table><br />After the match, we head off back towards the town. With us all separated, a few of us decided to show Chairman Totts and Dirty 'I have a funny turn if I'm facing the wrong way on the train' Barry the impressive stairs in the 'Spoons. In between us was also an old Harrogate fan, who needled us for our opinions on the match.<br /><br />We of course told him his lot were fuckin' shit and lucky to get what they did. One other thing that we happened to remark on was the questionable attendance figure given. What he reckoned was that if the stand running down the side of the pitch was full, then you were looking at least around a thousand. And if this were true, then I doubt there was only 300 around the rest to give a figure of under 1400. I guess we'll never know. It might help if you recorded how many entered the ground though.<br /><br />Making it to 'Spoons it turns out for some reason only Me, Mr X &amp; Perv made it. It turns out that most others went to Nando's on the way through, but didn't invite Pete. So we go for a spot of 'Spoons food. Surprisingly, my pizza seemed edible but it was much better than what the other two went for. Gammon, Egg &amp; Chips it said on the menu. But what turned up, eventually, was a bit of leather with some boiled eggs and crisps. Not very nice apparently.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-c78GWYNMMPo/W2xrip74ULI/AAAAAAAAFXw/fG0MJ8SvDacw1s925OV49jwKM8ZEGIaAwCEwYBhgL/s1600/WP_20180803_056.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-c78GWYNMMPo/W2xrip74ULI/AAAAAAAAFXw/fG0MJ8SvDacw1s925OV49jwKM8ZEGIaAwCEwYBhgL/s400/WP_20180803_056.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tastes like Smirnoff.. It all tasted like Smirnoff.....</td></tr></tbody></table><br />After that we walk back to the hotel to get changed and head out. Some of us took it serious, like Mr X who had donned a shirt, trouser &amp; shoes combo, where others hardly lifted a finger. A quick drink for everyone, except me, in the hotel bar and we decide to try and find a pub. Eventually we do and its a Nicholson's pub called "The Alexandra" and consider how we battered it the night before, tonight appeared to be taken at not quite the same pace.<br /><br />Nice boozer it turns out, with cricket on one telly, Golf on another and even some football to keep all entertained. A spot of MLS as Atlanta were at home against Toronto or as Perv thought, "Atalanta vs Torino". Someone's had a few! Several more beers were then consumed. And we even manage to get Robbo to get a round in. Despite the fact that he needed to write down what we were all drinking, still he managed to do it and that's all that mattered.<br /><br />Looking at the map and we see that our options appear to be a bit limited, but 4 Days reckoned he found a place that is open till half one and wasn't like a club but something most of us would like. Well except Magnum P.I. Who called it a night after his second glass of white wine. Sushi first, and now white wine? On an away day? Shameful.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-z-ucyIdX1x4/W2xroiHKZKI/AAAAAAAAFX4/rR3nI0hsFjYnyJDA8-Ze43eUIqtC1PxMwCEwYBhgL/s1600/WP_20180804_003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-z-ucyIdX1x4/W2xroiHKZKI/AAAAAAAAFX4/rR3nI0hsFjYnyJDA8-Ze43eUIqtC1PxMwCEwYBhgL/s400/WP_20180804_003.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At times, it was surreal</td></tr></tbody></table><br />The final drink was going to be round the back of Betty's Tearooms. A little place called the "Blues Cafe Bar". Trying to get in was an event in itself. For some reason, this old fella was standing right behind the door, and you needed to push it to get in. To be fair, the place was busy but you would think that he would've used a bit of common sense. Everyone literally need to push the door into him and him into the wall to squeeze through. Dickhead.<br /><br />With the place seemly very busy I thought that only one drink would do me before I would get pissed off and head back to the hotel. But thanks to eagle-eye Firm Leader as he spots that there might be an upstairs. This was also after Taz had arrived at the bar and tried to order a round. With the band blasting out a spot of Muddy Waters, he looks at The Firm leader for his poison of choice, "Spiced-Rum" he mouths back but somehow that gets lost in translation as he is given a beer. "Staropramen is what you ordered..."<br /><br />Upstairs, and into the 'Gin Palace' we went. And thankfully there were hardly any people and plenty of seats as well! We settle down and begin to enjoy the night again. At one point, me &amp; The Firm Leader are outside feeding the habit when the barman upstairs speaks to Mr X:<br /><br /><b>Barman: Would you like another drink?</b><br /><i>Mr X: Na it's alright, we need to order some lagers downstairs.</i><br /><b>Barman: I Can do that for you.</b><br /><i>Mr X: From downstairs?</i><br /><b>Barman: yes, and have them brought up to you.</b><br /><i>MR X: Jesus, go ahead fella!</i><br /><b>Barman would you lik to pay cash, or start up a tab?</b><br /><i>Mr X: Erm,shit,erm,erm..."</i><br /><br />Luckily we didn't start a tab, they can be dangerous for us! At one point, Me &amp; The Firm Leader head downstairs to use the gents and after squeezing past a Doris who wouldn't move from the bottom of the stairs we made it. The Firm Leader was in front and just as he pushed the door inwards, he managed to kop this poor fella right in the head! Sent the geezer reeling backwards! Sorry mate.<br /><br />A few more beers later and it was soon timer to call it a night. It was gone one after all. This had followed about half an hour of one of the funniest conversations we've ever had at Gandermonium and one that I won't repeat here, but I'll leave it with the following: "Pete, I gave it three flushes, but there was still stuff there, so I gave up". We did appear to be in a lock-in, literally, as the place had locked all the fuckin' doors as well as turned out all the lights, but eventually we made it out and back to the hotel.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YN8C3ejMcwU/W2xrlhnlBWI/AAAAAAAAFX4/a_O4XqhOYq4XbO2Oe0fCQmpWRwtqhw1RwCEwYBhgL/s1600/WP_20180803_058.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YN8C3ejMcwU/W2xrlhnlBWI/AAAAAAAAFX4/a_O4XqhOYq4XbO2Oe0fCQmpWRwtqhw1RwCEwYBhgL/s400/WP_20180803_058.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">More drink...</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><b><u>Sunday</u></b><br /><b><u><br /></u></b>With an early-ish train back to Leeds, We all needed to be up and ready before the clock stroke ten. Me &amp; The Firm Leader, who managed to not spill any water over the hotel room floor for once, head down for a selection of fried foods. There is a smattering of The Firm already digging in and we join in the occasion with a spot of fat bastard-style food. Everyone managed to eventually make an appearance, including Taz. No repeat of the I-can't-eat-because-I-had-a-salty-cheeseburger-last-night for him today as he scarfed down a decent helping of sausage and bacon.<br /><br />Eventually it's time to say goodbye to Harrogate as we get to the train station. The Firm Leader has a huge sigh of relief as he sees that the Harrogate Tap is shut, so no more chocolate marshmallow porter for him then. We also clock that there seems to be several girls dressed up in various forms of rainbow colouring. At Leeds station, there are now shed-loads of teenagers all displaying various rainbows. oi,oi, I think to myself. Leeds vs Stoke seems to be a bit colourful this year. Thankfully the train is on time and w're all soon aboard, including myself as I make sure that this is the right one. I'm not going back to Garforth this time!<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OCFat5-yRcE/W2xsJujsxkI/AAAAAAAAFX4/MCSJWSlQI7AqhT4zFPB_-UUqRTRXq1MGQCEwYBhgL/s1600/WP_20180805_005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OCFat5-yRcE/W2xsJujsxkI/AAAAAAAAFX4/MCSJWSlQI7AqhT4zFPB_-UUqRTRXq1MGQCEwYBhgL/s400/WP_20180805_005.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The view home...</td></tr></tbody></table><br />You would think that after two days of travels, there would be no more this intrepid writer could give. But you'd all be wrong, particularly if you know that Gandermonium is the gift that keeps on giving. Humour of the lowest common denominator type of gift mostly. Travelling back on the train from Leeds and we're slightly spread out despite 'someone' booking us a table. We've <strike>lost</strike> mislaid Sean Connery's Stuntman &amp; Indy along the way, but most just want to relax and vegetate.<br /><br />Even "It's all about getting on Badoo" Robbo takes a chance to stick on his headphones (no doubt it's terrible music, probably Chsney Hawkes 'Greatest hits' or something) to pass the time. Taz on the other hand whacks out his phone and begin playing away with it. If you think he's battling away on Angry Birds then you'd be very wrong. He's all about 'Chicanery' these days and something called <strike>'Glory Hole'</strike> 'Hole.io'. He best describes it as sticking something in a hole, the more you stick things in, the bigger the hole gets. I think I might have seen some videos like that in the past...<br /><br />We arrive at King's Cross and the Croydon Boys say there goodbye as they are travelling to Victoria on the Underground. The rest head over to St Pancras and jump onto a train south of the river and eventually home via an overheard conversation between what possibly could be the three weirdest people I've seen in a long long time. And what a weekend it's been. I might end up more tired on the Monday then I was on the Friday but that's the wonder of non-league football for you.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-V4uPk9Xy2l8/W2xsHYF03oI/AAAAAAAAFYA/vVCHKnKCP7saj3A3LFdCtmByfRM02qIpQCEwYBhgL/s1600/WP_20180805_002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-V4uPk9Xy2l8/W2xsHYF03oI/AAAAAAAAFYA/vVCHKnKCP7saj3A3LFdCtmByfRM02qIpQCEwYBhgL/s400/WP_20180805_002.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Missed opportunity for local cuisine...</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Thank fuck we're at home Saturday.<br /><br />Duke<br />Att. 1378Dukehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15782806444120070028noreply@blogger.com1